The Story Of An Elleth In Exile
by elenrith
Summary: A girl recounts the time of her life in the First Age of Arda. She is of no House, a misbegotten child living alone on the other side of some beautiful country, and with every sorrow, the flower of shadow planted in her heart waxes, and perhaps the call of the blood flowing in her veins might at last be answered. Prequel to 'The Gift of Broken Gemstones'.
1. Prologue: Of Sweet Reminiscence

Prologue: Of Sweet Reminiscence

* * *

 _Before me, the candle was flickering, casting shadows like phantoms upon the walls. There were ninety-three names upon the list, ninety-three candles I would have lit if I had them. Quietly I recited them, the words a mere susurration of reminiscence, like an incantation, as if it could bestow some other fate upon me. The pane of the window was bestrewen in frost, the terrain outside veiled in shadow, and creeping vines climbed the walls all about the chamber. A bird flittered amongst the trees, sprinkling a few leaves upon the ground, then faded away._

 _Then I finished whispering the names upon my lips, and the candle's light guttered then sputtered out. No tears would come to my eyes, however innumerable my sorrows were; after all, they were only memory now, and I had said farewell long ago. But it almost mattered not, for the flame was dead and encased with ruin, the ghost of wrath littered about it like the scatter of stars in the night sky._

 _All that was before me now was the misty candle smoke drifting in the still air, like a spectre awaiting to be at ease in vast, lonely halls. My smile was grim and mirthless, and I watched the smoke until it strayed away and vanished._

* * *

— _594 years before—_

I was born late in the year of 1499 upon the precipice of a wide, yawning sea. The terminology was not known to me then, but I had been begotten a bastard child, and I lived in a small cottage with my mother in isolation of all others. In truth I remember little of the beginning of my days, though sometimes I still dream of the calm, lapping waves upon the pebbled strand and the soft lights that shone from across the sea, like lanterns far away, out of reach. It was the time that they called the Years of the Trees, the time they believed for the world to have been young and untainted by malevolence, although secretly it was always there, always waiting for a rift to plant their dark seeds in, always ready to fester evil in the hearts of people.

My mother was a kind elleth, and now as I think of it, her face always looked wan and sad as if she held some concealed memory that she dared not speak of nor recall. I can remember the hue of her eyes; they were brown as burnt umber, and they held a certain depth to them. She would never speak of my father, or where he went, but sometimes she would reminisce of her old life in a place called Eldamar. It was a place far away from our little home, where she once had people she could trust. _But now I have you_ , she would say, and she would smile like tomorrow would never come.

At times she would go to a place she called the village, which was many leagues away, to trade her handwoven tapestries for supplies when we exhausted them. I used to go with her, until some of the others began to shout and shoot scornful looks at her when she tried to trade with them. She would usher me out as she finished her business with them, so I hardly ever knew what it was all about, and the other time there was a boy from the village that attempted to seize me—after that I never went back again.

I was seven the night she didn't come home. It was a few days after the appointed day of her return to our little cottage, and I remember settling to sleep in the lonely shadows of night, awaiting her return in disquiet. When I awoke, expecting to see the lights of Telperion and Laurelin, there was nothing, and there had been nothing for about a year or so, but I was still alone.

After slipping into my raiment, I wandered outside then down the path to the pebbled shore, feeling the crisp coldness of the water upon my skin as they lapped around my feet, as if dancing. For a while I stood there, then seated myself in a bed of grass, dangling my feet in the water. When I was smaller, my mother would tell me about the beauty of the light of Telperion and Laurelin, and sometimes I would squint into the horizon, as if I could see them from across the sea. I was so enamoured by her descriptions of them that I composed a song of my own, but barely do I remember the words now.

Sensing something amiss, I stood from my lounge, and looking about, beheld the smoke of a fire arising from the distance, in the direction of the village. Ears twitching in attempt to discern more of what was happening, I ran back up the hill to my mother's cottage only to find the plundering feet and shouting that was steadily growing closer with my every breath. My breath caught in my throat as I darted into the house, not knowing where else to go, and my feet carried me up, up the stairs until I reached the attic. With shaking fingers, I locked the door and barred it as best I could, then pulled back and waited.

But as the noises grew louder and the stairs creaked under the pounding feet of the invaders, my fear waxed wildly, and seizing a crumbling spear from a dusty corner, I hurled myself out of the window and onto the roof. The wind whipped my hair into my face like a tempest as I beheld the terrible sight; orcs were pounding through the twisting paths in which I knew so well, ravaging the beauty of my home. For a moment I stood rooted to the ground in horror, then tightened my grip on the spear.

In the attic there were hisses and crashes. My eyes searched around the roof, for I knew if I stayed, they surely would find me here, but I had no time, for shards of glass flew out of the window. With nothing else to do, I launched myself off the roof, stabbing my spear into the shoulder of a fleeing orc, the weapon piercing its skin from the base of its shoulder straight down its arm, the point sticking out of its hand.

I would never forget the orc's roar of agony that came bursting into existence; it was the first time I had experienced such brutality. I tumbled off the creature, leaving the spear in its arm, and staggered away, past the falling shadows around me. My arms throbbed from the impact of the fall, yet I barely noticed it as I ran and knew nothing but to run, to flee away, away. . .

I don't know how long I hid the dark shades of the trees, but it was then that a new time of my life began, for Finno found me hiding there and brought me back to the Noldor's camp in Hísilómë. I indeed must had been an odd sight—a little elf-child hiding in the bushes of a dark forest after a bloody battle; it was, in fact, the time following the Battle of Lammoth, which had taken place in the first year of what had become known as the First Age. He was an odd sight to me also, for I had never before seen another Noldo besides my mother and I, and instead of mistrusting him he became a brother to me, especially in the coming years of my life.

"I'm Findekáno," he said slowly and softly, as if afraid of frightening me. "What is your name?"

"Híthriel," I told him, using the Sindarin name my mother had given to me for the others. My Quenya name was a secret for myself.

He was confused by the name, for the roots of that name were not of anything in Quenya that he was familiar with, but we had no time to falter; peril still lurked in the shadowed trees around us, and so he extended a hand. "Come, we must go quickly."

I looked at the hand for a moment, unsure of what I should choose, yet I had nowhere to go, no one to trust. So I took it and we ran.

When we reached the camp, a golden-haired ellon greeted us hastily and spoke quietly in the High Eldarin speech to Finno. I was able to catch some of the hushed words; something about his little brother. . .to go quick, quickly, and I watched in apprehension as his countenance paled and a cold sweat formed upon his brow.

"Take care of her until my return," he said and hastened away.

The ellon's name was Laurefindil; he was a kind part Noldo (and part Vanya) and reminded me of my mother in a way as I now find. At the time he looked to be as naive and young as my mother had once been, a child of summer untainted by the fruits of winter, and he seemed to be surprised when he found that I could indeed speak Quenya as he tried to exchange quiet words of reassurance with me, yet for a long time I never said a word; when I did the voice was so faint he had to strain to hear. The memories of the all that had just occurred—the destruction of my home, the spear I had stabbed through the orc—was still fresh and haunting in my mind.

"Is your arm all right?" Laurefindil asked, for I was holding onto my forearm protectively.

"It hurts a little," I admitted, and let him examine the arm. Then I was young and ingenuous, and scarcely mistrusted others.

"It looks like the bone is fractured," he told me. "I need to bind it in order for it to heal." He was holding back on asking what I had one to receive this hurt, and would most likely tarry his questions until morning for Finno.

I nodded subtly and remained unmoving as he bound the arm. He spoke to me often, although I only listened, and told me why Finno had to leave; it was because Arakáno, his youngest brother, had been killed in the Battle of Lammoth. I wanted to say that I was sorry, and I knew how he felt, yet I did not know how to put them into words the way it was supposed to be. So I said nothing, and gazed up at the pale stars in the sky, hoping they would not vanish like my mother had done.

The first rising of Rána, the Wanderer, came that night, as the Noldor called it, but you would know it to be the Moon. Rána was devised from one of the last dying flowers of Telperion from the Darkening of Valinor, carried by Tilion, a Maia; and through the power of Nienna and Yavanna, Vása, which you know to be the Sun, was made from Laurelin, which produced a single fiery fruit ere it died. It was with the rising of Rána that marked the beginning of the First Age of Arda, for the Trees were dead and a new epoch must begin.

That night I settled into a restless, troubled sleep, and many times awakened screaming from the haunting memories.

* * *

That was one of the first remembrances I can recall from my younger days. In time, I was received into the House of Ñolofinwë as a daughter of their own, and Finno became my closest friend and brother. Then I only knew little of the sudden appearance of a large host of Noldor in Endor, across the sea from Eldamar where they dwelt, but in due course I learned of all that had occurred—the Darkening, the Flight of the Noldor, and the Hiding of Valinor.

There was something peculiar about the way I aged—I grew at a strangely swift rate for an Elda. For those in the latter days like you, it may be said that the Eldar grow at the pace of trees, quite slow for you, I daresay. Laurefindil seemed to know something about it, but I never knew what he suspected until later.

Then by the time I had turned eleven, I wanted to become the commander of the army of Hísilómë next to Findekáno, yet it was all a silly dream. Although ellith were permitted to pursue such things that were 'meant for ellyn', very few ever did so. Thus as I grew older, the dream waned ever more.

In the fifth year of the Sun, Finno left suddenly on an expedition, and when he returned I met my eldest cousin for the first time, yet to me it was not so sudden, for I had sensed his unease and disquiet long before. To you, I would have still been a mere nine-year-old, but only in appearance, for it was told that the Eldar grew in bodily form slower than the Atani, but in mind more swiftly.

His name was Nelyafinwë, the eldest son of Fëanáro, the deviser of the Silmarilli. The only one of Fëanáro's entire host of Noldor that had stood by at the Burning at Losgar, yet also taken part in the First Kinslaying of Alqualondë. For the past twenty or so years he had, strictly speaking, been the High King of the Noldor after his father's death, but when an embassy from Morgoth had come feigning defeat, he had been captured and taken to Angband, and had been hung upon the precipice of Thangorodrim by his right hand—until now.

I was fourteen at the time, and vividly remembered the sight of Nelyo draped upon Finno's shoulder, his countenance so pale and ghastly and the blood leaking so significantly that he seemed a corpse already dead. All eyes that looked on traveled to the stump of his hand even as Thorondor, the First Eagle of Manwë to be seen in Endor, descended from the air; to release the hell-wrought bond from him, Findekáno had to cut off his hand at the wrist, for he could not free the bond upon his wrist, nor sever it, nor draw it from the stone.

Irissë, Findaráto, Turukáno and a few others rushed over to help him but most stayed back. I myself was frozen in shock, having had seen little of these occurrences ere this one, save the casualties in the Battle of the Lammoth, fought when I was a mere seven-year-old. It reminded me of an instance when I was nine, and Finno and I had been waylaid by orcs and nearly captured.

They carried him over to a tent and disappeared into the folds, gone like the scarcest trace of wind. I barely heard the soft chatter that had broken out among the Noldor as I headed slowly over to the tent and waited quietly, wanting to give them the seclusion they needed.

It was a long while before Finno came out, with Turukáno and Irissë behind him.

"Are you all right?" I asked softly, unsure of what to say.

Finno glanced at me, as if just realizing that I had seen all that had just occurred. "I am," he said at last. "I'm all right. Why don't you come help me clean up. . .there are some things I would like to tell you."

I nodded and followed him through the maze of tents. At first we walked in silence, but finally he spoke. "I haven't told you everything that happened; I haven't told you much, actually."

I said nothing.

"The Elda I just brought back—he is my cousin. His name is Nelyafinwë. He is the oldest son of Fëanáro, the creator of the Three Silmarils. The Silmarils were made long before you were born, after the unchaining of Melkor, the most powerful Ainu. They are the great gems crafted of _silima_ , which Fëanáro had devised, and they were named after it, but their greatness has fallen. In the Silmarils is the light of the Two Trees, and Varda, Queen Elbereth, hallowed the jewels so that no evil hands could touch them. Yet the lies of Melkor festered darkness in the heart of Fëanáro, and a greedy love for the Silmarils was kindled.

"Fëanáro hated his half-brothers, especially my father Ñolofinwë; he was not in favor of his father Finwë—my grandfather—marrying Indis after the death of his mother Míriel. At one instance in a Noldorin council when he marched in with his full armor and held a sword at my father's neck.

"And that, of course, is strictly prohibited in Valinor and so he was exiled, and lived in Formenos with his father and seven sons, Nelyo being the eldest one. But Fëanáro was permitted to return for the festival in Valmar, although his father stayed behind to guard the Silmarils in their chamber of iron. However there came a great storm out of the west, and it was Melkor and Ungoliant, an evil spirit of a spider-form succumbed to his will. Arriving in Valinor, Ungoliant came to the Two Trees and drained the light from them. With each breath she grew bigger until the Trees died and the world was enveloped in darkness. Then Ungoliant and Melkor escaped into shadow.

"The Valar asked Fëanáro to extract the last light of the Two Trees from his Silmarils, but to do so the jewels would be broken and could not be made again. But even as Fëanáro refused, riders came hestening and told that Melkor had stolen the Silmarils from Formenos and that Finwë was dead.

"Fëanáro in utter sorrow and rage cast aloft his sword, for he had loved his father more than anything, and naming Melkor _Morgoth_ , the Dark Foe, he swore a terrible oath to retrieve the Silmarils at whatever cost. His seven sons leaped faithfully to his side and sore it alongside him, and now they are forever bound to it.

"I was there on the day of the festival when the oath of Fëanáro was sworn, and I followed my father as he came with Fëanáro and much of the Noldor here to Endor. I was unsure of what I should do at the time; Fëanáro was a very convincing Elda—manipulative, almost. After Finwë's death he gave a passionate speech, and nearly all the Noldor followed him, fleeing Aman for Endor. Atarinya told me he didn't want to abandon the people to Fëanor, and that was why we were leaving also. But my mother Anairë would not leave with us. Yet here I am, on the other side of the ocean, far away from Valinor."

"What happened to Fëanáro?" I asked.

"Oh, he's dead," Findekáno said. "His recklessness didn't last him long."

"And where are the Silmarils now?"

"Set atop Morgoth's crown. Although they withered his hands black in pain unbearable, he would never part himself from them." He sighed. "So Nelyo, when he came to Endor, feigned to treat with Morgoth, but the latter sent a force greater than was agreed. All were slain save Nelyo, who was captured and taken to Angamando. I went to rescue him, but I didn't think I would come back, I didn't think I would ever find him, yet I found him, and now he's back, and I had to. . .I had to cut off his hand at the wrist, I couldn't release the chain. I don't—I almost gave up and it's been more than twenty years since I last saw him. . ."

I knew not of what to say, so I merely continued to scrub the dried blood off his arm, but I felt that I should say something—something useful that would make him feel better, to show him that I cared. With his other arm, he wiped away a fugitive tear, yet he would not let me see his face.

"I'll go visit him when he gets better," I said softly. The voice sounded weak and reluctant, but lifting his head Finno smiled.

"Hantanyel," he murmured, and the word made me feel better more than he did. "You're the best I could ever have, titta nettë."

* * *

Who could find any rest in this unending tunnel? The torment did not simply end here; the aftermath perhaps was longer and more painful. There was no beginning, no ending to it; even the diaphanous curtains wandering aloft from a light wind breezing in through the flap of the tent had gone unnoticed. I drifted in through the fluttering folds, looking barely any more than a wisp of wind, quite likely, and watched him as I walked in quietly, holding a glass of water, and I carried the glass in a reverent way with one hand holding in place a cloth to the rim. As I approached the table next to the bed, I slipped off the cloth and placed it under the glass.

I slid into the chair beside the table and studied the room. "Findekáno said I could visit you when you were better," I said in explanation of my presence, noticing how he had gone abruptly tense.

He tilted his head in understanding. "Vandë omentaina." His voice was hoarse and I lowered my eyes in an almost apprehensive manner.

"They say your name is Nelyo," I murmured.

Something in his gaze shifted a little. "Indeed."

"The people talk. I hate it when they do that," I said. "They doubt what they don't know—who they don't know."

He turned to look at me. "Man esselya ná?" he asked.

I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Hithríel, yelya i Ñolofinwë." The words still sounded odd—sounded _wrong_ after so many years. He wasn't my father. I was still my mother's child, and she could not be gone; even now I refused to admit it.

"Yelya i Ñolofinwë?" he repeated in wonder and astonishment.

"I am his. . .foster daughter," I said slowly, somewhat uncomfortable. Reading his expression, I smiled slightly, suppressing a laugh. "Yes, it means we're kind of cousins, but not really." I bit my lip. "Findekáno—he found me in the ruins of a village soon after Lammoth."

His eyes were filled with something different that it had in a long time. "Lammoth?" he faltered. "How‐how old are you?"

"Fourteen," I said quietly, and as the dark shadow of revelation dawned upon his face and enveloped him, I lowered my head again. "We're in the fifth year of the sun. I-I figured you should know." I inhaled deeply then let it out shakily. "But we should not dwell on what has passed," I said, letting the hope in my voice extend and ignite a new candle. Reaching into the folds of my coat, I produced a small book and flipped it open. "Finno told me you like to read. This was one of my favorites when I was little.

"'The Tale of Aelindë,'" I began. "'It has long been told among—'"

"Nanyë nyérinqua—Hithríel?" he said.

"Yes?" I said, peering out from behind the book.

"Áni apsenë," he said apologetically. "I was unwell—"

"You still are," I said, interrupting him. I dragged my chair closer to show him the drawings in the book. "Now listen carefully," I said, and the fruits of winter began to wither and turn into spring. "'It has long been told among the Nymphs of Southern Belegaer that there were mystical beings out there that walk on feet and fly on wings. . .'"

And so we passed the morning together. For a fortnight and more I returned to him, reading glorious tales of youth and joy until he was healed, yet the wounded can never completely heal from their hurts, and their scars will remain with them to the end of their days.

* * *

One morning before my training began I went to Mae—I had begun to call Nelyo that, for he preferred that name to any of his others; it was the Sindarin form of his name. He had recovered much more by now; he could walk without support nor hindrance. Usually in the mornings I would go to teach him some Sindarin with Finno, but the latter had not come today. I remember when he asked me to translate his ataressë, amilessë, and epessë to Sindarin, and he settled with the name Maedhros, a combination of two of them, not including his ataressë. He did not desire to be a king, nor a ruler.

But now I had a burning question in my mind that I had been reluctant to ask, yet I felt that not knowing had impeded my knowledge of many things. Therefore as I sat down facing Mae, I laced my fingers together and rested my chin on them, voicing my disquiet before I decided against it.

"I always hear people talk about the 'seven sons' of Fëanor," I began. "But I've only seen six of you."

Mae sighed. "I'm surprised you haven't heard from the gossip."

"As do I."

He did not speak for a lengthy pause, and cast his gaze downward to the table.

"Will you not tell me?" I said quietly.

He was still looking down when he spoke. "He was killed in the journey here. You've heard of the Oath that my father swore, haven't you?"

I nodded.

"People have already died for it. After we left Aman, we needed ships to get to Endor, so my father asked the Teleri in Alqualondë for some. They refused, so in the night he began to take the ships by force, and fighting broke out. At first the battle was evenly matched, but then the second host arrived. Thinking that the Teleri had attacked the Noldor, the host joined the fight, and in the end, many of the Teleri were killed and the ships were taken."

I was taken aback with horror. Eldalië killing each other—it was more terrible than I could imagine. And Mae—

"I have more fault in that than I should have taken," he said. "Then my father thought that the hosts of Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë, his half-brothers, were unfaithful, and so in the night he slipped away with those he deemed true to him. When he arrived at the other side, Losgar, he burned the ships. I had always known that my father could be somewhat mad but I had just left Findekáno on the other side, and the host had to either return to Valinor in shame or endure the bitter cold of Helcaraxë.

"As the rest of my brothers joined in the burning of the ships, I confronted my father, but he merely laughed. There Pityo, the elder of my twin brothers, died. He was still on one of the ships as it burned." He sighed. "And that is why I find myself unfit to carry on the role of High King of the Noldor. I am giving the crown to your father, Ñolofinwë."

The words sounded lilting upon his lips, yet I still found myself thinking, _he's not my father_.

* * *

Eldarin References:

Eldarin References:

 _Ellon._ (S) Male Elda.

 _Ellith._ (S) Plural of elleth, a female Elda.

 _Ellyn._ (S) Plural of _ellon_ , a male Elda.

 _Atarinya._ (Q) My father.

 _Hantanyel._ (Q) Thank you.

 _Titta nettë._ (Q) Little sister.

 _Vandë omentaina._ (Q) Pleased to meet you.

 _Man esselya ná?_ (Q) What is your name?

 _Yelya i Ñolofinwë._ (Q) Daughter of Ñolofinwë.

 _Nanyë nyérinqua._ (Q) I am sorry.

 _Áni apsenë._ (Q) Forgive me.

* * *

*Morgoth's Ring, Part III. The Later Quenta Silmarillion: The Second Phase: Laws and Customs among the Eldar.

**Chapter XIII, "Of the Return of the Noldor," _The Quenta Silmarillion_.

* * *

 _A/n: Generally there's not that much Eldarin so you shouldn't worry too much ;) Thank you for reading the prologue! The formatting for the next few chapters are all off, but the updated versions of them should be up soon (I've been editing and many things have changed)._

 _Nai aurelya nauva mára! (Q. Have a great day!)_

 _\- Elenrith_


	2. Part One: Chapter I

Part One: Of the Thorned Rose

* * *

 _Chapter I_

* * *

 _Crossings of Teiglin, 51_

My ears twitched as the gale swept our scent downwind, and I inclined my head, turning to the direction where my ears strained to hear. "A river flows about a league away. We should reach there by nightfall."

"You have sharp ears, my Lady," Narwalótë said. "I can barely pick up the slightest trace."

"I can scarcely hear it, if truth be told," I returned, "but I can feel the presence of it."

"A good gift to have," the Noldorin ellon acclaimed. Narwalótë tended to talk just for the sake of it, and seldom ever ceased to express what he thought of matters at hand.

"Why I thank you, Lord Narwalótë," I said, dipping my head slightly. "But we must be going, or it would be dark by the time we reach the river."

Tingilindë was standing a little ahead of us atop an eminence commanding the terrain of the forest before us, a slender bow slung across his back. Quite the opposite of Narwalótë, he spoke little, only when he had to; I had been told that after his wife had been slain in the crossing of Helcaraxë, he had never been the same.

As I approached him, I felt not the need to repeat what I had told Narwalótë, for he had doubtlessly heard what I had said, even from the distance. Thus with scarcely another word, we continued to head across the terrain, being certain to conceal our presence beneath the shadows of the trees.

My sixtieth begetting day had not long ago passed, and for the first twenty-nine years of my life, I had stayed mostly in Hísilómë, training. When I was around thirty, I accompanied Ñolofinwë, Findekáno, Turukáno, Iríssë, Findaráto, Laurefindil, and the others to the Mereth Aderthad at Eithel Ivrin, and upon meeting so many different cultures was intrigued to learn more, and thus set out to wander the wilds of Beleriand. I went first to Himring to see Mae's realm and the lands to the east which I had not been to before; although I had always liked music when I had studied it in Hísilómë, Káno brought out my true passion for it when he taught me of the art.

Yet of these I remember little, for now the years past are like faded scrawl upon brittle parchment, and so much had happened since then that I must strain to remember the blissful days. At this time I had returned to Hísilómë to celebrate my begetting day, for I had not returned for my fiftieth one, which marked the midpoint of an Elda's first cycle. There Findaráto had told me of the dream Ulmo, Vala of the Seas, Dweller of the Deep, had sent him, and now planned to construct a hidden city which is now known as Nargothrond. Thus Narwalótë, Tingilindë, and I were travelling to the prospective stronghold upon the banks of River Narog to assist in the establishment of the city.

"We make camp here," I said as Tingilindë swung his bow upon the ground so it rested upon the bole of a tree. "Tingilindë, you take the charge of fetching the water, if you will; Narwalótë, prepare the aliment, if you so please. I'll scout the overlooking terrain."

"Don't venture too far," Narwalótë cautioned, handing Tingilindë his canteen as he reached for it. "It would be best we stay together."

 _Don't talk to me like I don't know these things._ "That I am aware."

With nothing more, I stalked away, slinking into the shadows of the trees. Finno had taught me to conceal my presence when I trained with him— _silent as a cat, fast as an adder,_ he would say to me. Sometimes he would have me watch the animals of how they moved, how they acted, so that I would learn their strengths and blend them all into my abilities.

An hour after I had returned, and Tingilindë a little before me. Dimly I remembered reporting to them of what I had found, yet there was not much; nothing I could remember now. That night I volunteered to take the night watch, for I sensed that my sleep would have been restless if I did.

My gaze was distant and faraway although it seemed as if I was merely looking at some long lost memory through the trees as I sat with my back resting against the bole of one, my mind wandering and unfocused. I had been thinking of those days in my childhood (although I was still considered quite a child in Eldarin society) and how they had always doubted me for who I was.

Unlike most of the Eldar, I did not grow at the pace of trees, and in fact fairly swiftly; when I was training with the ellyn my age, they had always thought I was one of the dull-witted ones who never worked hard enough to proceed onto the next class. And indeed, I trained with the ellyn, for although I still learned the duties of ellith, since I was eleven, I wanted to become the commander of the army of Hísilómë next to Findekáno.

I can remember a particular incident when I was around twenty (to you the ellyn would have looked to be seven, and I perchance thirteen), and even then I was a quiet one, and scarcely spoke. Most of the time I preferred to keep to the shadows and mingle myself amongst the others, yet still they noticed me, for an elleth amongst a pack of ellyn was not too hard to notice.

 _Sometimes I think your tongue had been severed off, Lady Híthriel,_ one of the ellyn would ridicule, the tone mocking along with the title. _You seldom speak._

Most times I would snap something back at them just to prove that I could speak and try to pretend that nothing had occurred as the training resumed. Oft the instructors had their own favorites, and generally they would have the strongest of their favorites spar against me. Sometimes I would prevail, yet most times not.

"You're not sleeping," I noted, speaking to Tingilindë.

His eyes flickered open. "I'm not." The ellon sat up and stared into the twilight as I had been doing, and only after a little while he spoke again. "You're young, aren't you?"

"I would say so."

"Fifty?"

"Sixty."

"My son's that age and a little more," he told me. "I would say double that, actually."

Tingilindë looked only a few years older than me in appearance; I was glad that my appearance in age had only been swift in my days of adolescence, for by the time I had turned thirty-seven, I had aged the slowest one could ever be. At this time I looked to be what you would see as fourteen or fifteen.

"What is his name?" I asked, to make conversation.

"His amilessë is Tindómë, but he uses that name regularly like an ataressë. It might as well be his epessë," Tingilindë said. "He loved his mother very dearly, as I had."

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

"Don't be. That was not what I meant to say with those words," he said. "Regardless, that time is too far long ago for us to keep chasing it."

The ghost of a smile played upon my lips. "My mother used to tell me that."

"I heard you are Lord Ñolofinwë's foster daughter," Tingilindë said.

"I am," I told him. "My mother had gone when I was a child, and of her I remember little."

"I see," he said. "Perhaps you and Tindómë would be fine friends."

"Perhaps," I echoed.

The dialogue ceased for a moment, then picked up again.

"Are you a friend of Findaráto's?" I said.

"Indeed; I knew him in Valinor," Tingilindë told me. "And you? How do you know him?"

"He's always been a childhood friend to me. He knew I wanted to learn of the worlds out there and requested my company in Nargothrond for that reason. Really I know nothing of building a settlement."

"You have time to learn," he said, almost musing it to himself. "It'll be all right."

Eventually I jerked my chin to the sleeping Narwalótë, saying, "You should get some rest. My watch isn't over for many hours yet."

"All right then, if you must," Tingilindë said, settling back down. I appreciated how he didn't address me with those mocking titles, namely _Lady_ Híthriel; I was no lady, only a bastard child taken in by the House of Finwë, and all knew it.

A few hours passed in watchful silence, and sometimes I felt the bonds of energy shift around me, yet only suspected them to be animals and trees. Since I had come to Hísilómë, my ability to feel the presence of things from merely feeling the energies pulsing around me had grown stronger, but I told no one save Finno and Mae. I worried that the others would reject me more than they already did now, and would mistrust me.

Suddenly I felt a coldness upon the nape of my neck and stiffened, my ears twitching to detect an energy of some sort. Then without warning, there was something slim and sleek flying toward me, so fast that I could barely see or comprehend it—

I jerked away, but too late. The dart pierced my arm and I gasped as the pain rushed suddenly to me. Narwalótë and Tingilindë were instantly jolted awake by the abrupt movement.

"What happened?" Narwalótë hissed.

"Shit—prepare yourselves, you fools!" Wincing, I grasped the shaft and jerked it out with a sharp breath.

They wasted no time. Unsheathing our weapons, we stood back to back in a circle and waited in the darkness, silencing every breath, every movement.

"What do you think it is?" Tingilindë murmured.

"Seeing the dart, it's a band of orcs," I said. "How did they find us? The point of travelling in small groups is to stay unseen."

"We know," Narwalótë muttered. "Quildë!"

We were smart enough to do so. My heart thumped in my chest like a dead beat and the scarlet blood dripped from my elbow, ominously synchronized to the former. I breathed in as quietly as possible then exhaled slowly, attempting to calm myself. When I was uneasy, it became difficult to detect the energies; it was better when I was composed and calm yet I could do none of that now.

In the shadowed trees, I could see the distant stars reflecting in Tingilindë's eyes as he scanned the area once more. Nothing. I could tell Narwalótë was holding his breath as he fingered the hilt of his sword. . .

There was a sudden bellow to my side and a shadow of movement—then Narwalótë was fiercely engaged in a duel with a giant orc. I swiveled around to find that we were surrounded by orcs leaping toward us with jagged swords in their hands, and had barely comprehended what had happened before I was slashing wildly at the attacking orcs, needing to end this quickly with all of us alive.

While Tingilindë moved like a shadow, eluding attacks and relying on the element of surprise, Narwalótë was a raging fire, using brute force to conquer his enemies; I was a mixture of both, although I leaned toward the eluding side. I struck them down with quick slashes of two long daggers, but the orcs seemed to be innumerable. We were forced over the ravine and back until we were standing back to back, bent over and gasping, again at the initial place. Narwalótë, bleeding from a gash on his leg, leaned against Tingilindë and glared up at the orc commander that stepped forward.

The commander said naught and gazed down at us, waiting for us to beg for mercy, for our ends to come swiftly—

But we gave him no response. I ground my teeth together to keep from screaming and prayed to Elbereth that we would come out of this alive. . .

He raised a fist and spoke a word of doom that vibrated into my bones with the level of malice it contained. "Vras."

A black arrow hurled through the air and thumped dully as it hit its target. I was struck with horror at the shaft that was protruding out of Narwalótë's shoulder and the roar of pain that came as a spasm out of him, but there was no time to comfort nor to recover; for they charged mercilessly at us, the echo of their pounding feet vibrating the ground like drums in the deep.

Tingilindë and I fought desperately to shield Narwalótë from the onslaught but somehow he struggled up and plunged his sword into what orc skin he could, breaking flesh and bone altogether. Nonetheless the orcs raged on, attempting to drive us apart. I hissed at the commander as he advanced and thrust his sword at me. I parried the blow, stumbling back, as the attack had been unexpectedly strong. He wasted no time, taking uniform steps forward and swinging his blade brutally at all in his path. I scarcely had time to retreat and evade his blows—too late did I realize that he was drawing me away from the others.

There was a shrieking cry in the night and I twisted around only to see the orcs still hacking viciously at Narwalótë buried under a mound of collapsing bodies. My scream of lamentation and terror was cut off as the orc commander slammed his sword into my body. Where was Tingilindë? Where had he gone? Please, please let him still be alive. . . don't let me be the only one left—

I would have looked around for him if the orc commander had not leaped forward for the last blow. Anger so terrible it kindled into rage flamed within me and I vanished away from the attack, stabbing at his back. Roaring, he wheeled away from me and the other orcs launched themselves at me. I was a storm of destruction, of torment; I knew nothing but to slaughter and to waste countless breaths on anguish. I became mist, and gale, then screaming wind. I became storm, and thunder, then lightning. I became shadows, and shade, then darkness.

Two orcs held Tingilindë roughly by the arms and two others held his legs down. The commander sauntered over and dug a short knife under his chin. He turned his merciless gaze toward me and jerked his chin at my dagger. I stared in horror at Tingilindë. He could not speak nor move his head, for the knife was too ruthlessly pressed against his neck, but in his eyes there only one word yielded: _no_. I dragged my gaze away from him and turned my eyes toward the orc commander, who forced the knife harder onto him, breaking skin, deep scarlet blood gushing out—

My only defense thudded to the ground.

Some of the orcs shifted, but the commander gave no order to attack. Gradually, baring his teeth, he removed the knife from Tingilindë's throat and let it fall to the ground. He growled and I held my hands up, slowly.

Suddenly, as quick as an adder, he seized a sword at his side and rammed the blade clean through Tingilindë's chest. I let out a sputtering cry as he slumped over, dead.

The orcs had already closed in on me. I struck out with all the power I would muster with merely my arms and legs, and managed to take out some of them, but was soon overpowered.

At last they held me in the same way as they had Tingilindë, and forcing me on my knees, the commander stood directly in front of me. He examined me, and as he walked behind I tensed with an illimitable pressure.

"Nar vras," he said, coming in front again. "Losog."

I knew not what that meant but I could guess well enough. The orcs, jeering, struck every part they could get their hands on. One thrust a filthy cloth around my mouth and another tied something around my eyes. As some bound my hands, others were still laughing vilely amongst themselves, and they kept me awake only to force me to walk so they would not have to bear me as a burden.

And in my mind, the emptiness of Narwalótë and Tingilindë locked themselves in the deepest caverns of my heart and wilted to cinders.

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Amilessë._ (Q) Mother-name.

 _Ataressë._ (Q) Father-name.

 _Epessë._ (Q) Chosen name.

 _Quildë._ (Q) Quiet.

 _Yrch._ (Q) Orc.


	3. Chapter II

CHAPTER II

* * *

 _Yrch Camp, 51_

I try not to remember what happened that night but the truth is undeniable. The beginning of it was nearly cold, so severely cold that it made all feeling dormant, and the pain grew to a throbbing numbness and burned through flesh and bone as an endless tunnel of torment. I craved warmth with the deepest crevices of my heart; I would do anything—anything just to be warm again.

That night the lieutenant of Morgoth came to the orc camp for an inspection. He was not what I expected to be.

In truth, I know not what I expected; the last time I had thought of this was when I was fourteen, when Mae spoke to me of Angband. As a young child, I had imagined more of a veiled, gnarled figure of darkness, yet I found that reality was much more brutal. The lieutenant was beautiful beyond measure; it was a cruel, sharp beauty that seemed more prominent than even the beauty of the Valar. And part that I most hated was the warmth—the utter warmth that arose with his coming like the unveiling of the sun on a fogged day, for it was what I most craved, and now most hated.

The next day he dragged me to Angband and toyed with my mind, surprised to find it resilient. He managed to break in but I grew stronger and a fierce battle was born.

Anon I became his favorite to play with. After nine years—

* * *

 _Angamando, 60_

Of this I remember very little, for it was all crashing waves of tormented emotion, but the hallucination that began the explosion comes somewhat clearly to my mind. In a dark corner of the room, I saw a bent figure, chest heaving with forced breaths, the noise like a hiss and a cough fused agonizingly together. Slowly, the figure turned around, and the wheezing grew deafening until the face was finally revealed—

My mother.

The guard tore in through the door and the vision vanished as abruptly as it had come. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to destroy the memory from my mind, and slowly opened them again. My blurred vision was still fogged, and as the ringing in my ears ebbed at a painfully slow rate, I could barely make out the shadow of the guard in front of me.

"Do not make me say this again," the guard said, unfeeling and commanding, his face too close to mine. "What—"

I lashed my loosened chains at the guard, and tightening it around his neck, I grasped his throat and threw his head against the wall so that the skull cracked audibly against the unyielding stone. I stared straight at his frightened, terrified eyes as the life dimmed and he slumped over, then let the body fall to the ground in a sickening thump. An uncontrollable flame hummed in my blood, desiring so much to burst out and slaughter all in its path—

Taking a bone sword from the guard's body, I exploded out of the room, an uncontrollable amount of power bursting from me. Orcs fell dead at the swift strokes of my blade, yet I never expected to escape; I only wished for an end to come for this unbearable pain.

Subconsciously I had climbed the steep passageway to the summit of Thangorodrim where Mae had been hung. The bone sword clattered to the ground behind me. Stepping to the edge of the cliff, I gazed down at the thundering water and shut my eyes, yet felt a presence stir behind me, and glanced backwards.

Although I beheld the lieutenant standing there, as clear as the light of day, I felt nothing more. No pain, no fear, no bewilderment. I simply turned around and let myself fall from the precipice of Thangorodrim.

A part of my mind felt nothing; it was simply accepting the fact that my life was about to end in a matter of seconds, and there would be no more pain, no more joy, no more despair, no more love. It was all simply a fact, a mere fact that was barely a star in the entire wide firmament. There were more stars out there, stars that were stronger, brighter, not stars about the wink out and die, forever abolished from the world.

Yet the other part was screaming, screaming to not give up, not perish in the merciless waters thundering below. The body always wants to survive; it was built for that purpose. It wanted to keep itself alive.

As I fell nearer to the water, I could see several individual droplets spring out of the water in perfect blue spheres the shade of ice. It made me think of Artanis and her mirror—the basin of water clearer than polished glass. The memory of her let my thoughts swim to Findaráto and the golden radiance that he always brought me, then Findekáno, the kindness and wisdom he always gave me, then Mae, the strength and life he granted me, and atto, Káno, Moryo, Curvo, Tyelko, Telvo, Artanis, Turukáno, Lúthien, Melyanna—

No. _No_.

I didn't know what I was screaming for, but suddenly every part of my body was shrieking to survive, to _live again_. Not to simply survive, but to _live_.

Something was happening, something unfurling—

The moment before I hit the water, the wings that had unfurled from my back came into existence and I knew of nothing else but to, push, push up into the air so I would not fall again. My legs grazed the water and I struggled to beat the massive wings; there were new muscles that had never been used and already my core and back were sour with excruciating agony, screaming with the effort. My hands clenched into fists and I clawed the air desperately as if that somehow could help me end the endless battle.

I crashed into a protruding branch, and even as the blood pooled from my stomach, I pushed on. I forced myself to climb higher into the air until I was above the summit of the trees, and went to the only place I could go—Himring. Through the fall I had forgotten of the lieutenant watching from the brink of the jagged cliffs of Thangorodrim, but I cared not, for the time. I didn't even care for why I suddenly had the ability to skin change to have a form with wings upon my back.

Nothing mattered except that I would finally get the chance to live again.

* * *

 _Himring, 60_

The stars—the stars overhead were so beautiful, so beautiful and fair. I hadn't seen them in so long. . .how long had it been? It seemed like eternity, like a complete age of the world.

I heeded naught even as the guards' eyes flew open wide at the sight of me although the wings had faded. They knew who I was; they would not stop me from entering the city. I ran through the gate and past the pale structures and suddenly I found myself standing atop the balcony of my room.

My fingers rested lightly on the rail as I tilted my head up and gazed at the stars, feeling the free wind of the cool night air brushing against my face. There was nothing like stars; they were their own, pure beings that scintillated like a promise in the shadows of the beautiful night.

Yet my fingers began to clench the rail, the hurts stabbing my body growing unbearable, and chest heaving, fighting the pain, I sank to the floor, my gaze still cast upward to the stars. . .

Scarlet blood seeped onto the ground, creating a small pool until it was merely drip, drip, dripping like a heartbeat, a faint heartbeat; or maybe like tears falling off someone's face unhindered because they had been too sorrowful to wipe it off; maybe like raindrops dripping from a sodden roof at dawn after a midnight storm.

The stars were so beautiful. . .

* * *

The darkness was a clawed chain with bleeding thorns like a tunnel of a spiraling spears, an endless passageway of nothingness; it was the end, yet the beginning, for the torment was written in it also; it was not the lovely enveloping darkness, but the restless fury of the shadows engulfing me ill at ease. Something was digging into my wrists, scraping them. I tried to move my arms and wrung my hands on my wrists to be rid of the feeling.

Something shifted in the gloom and my heart was seized with a terrible weight, tensing all of my nerves and muscles. It was silent and still for a second, but suddenly drew up again, closer to me.

I lashed out with all my strength and tackled the person to the ground, letting punches fly into their face unrestrained. My breath was still coming in quick gasps and my eyes wide with fear and panic. I must get out of this endless darkness—I needed to _get out_. Waves were howling into my ears; I could hear nothing but the ceaseless roars of impending doom.

But there was something at the end of the tunnel, something different that wasn't simply darkness. A voice calling something in the distance, like an echo of a time before. It nearly drowned into the depths of the ocean as the waves crashed about the tunnel viciously. I tried to reach for it but my hand fell short. _No_ , I must not, I must not reach for it; it was a trap, an illusion of the past that had died and would never be alive again.

The light at the end of the tunnel flickered again, and the movement caught the attention of my eyes. I peered at it this time, scrutinizing it. Was it really an illusion? If it was, then it must be a good one. . .what harm was there if I fell into it and was lured into its swirling pools? Gradually I began to release my guard and sink into the illusion. The howling waves diminished and the shadowed tunnel began to fall away. Then at last the voice came more clearly to my ears.

It was someone, someone repeating my name softly, quietly, gently. What a beautiful illusion to fall into. The voice was familiar, of a place somewhere far away that I thought I could never reach again. Who was it? Where was it? I couldn't remember anymore. . . I fought to think, to feel that fogged reassurance I had once felt so long ago. The name, the name, the name, what was it?

The room was still dark but the curtains were open, revealing the starlight shining softly through the window. Yet it was not so dark anymore; my senses had been cleared somewhat to focus and hear the voice that was still calling my name.

I looked around, my body still tense, realizing for the first time that the smell of the room wasn't the same and there were no chains wrought around my wrists and ankles. But if it were an illusion, that would be a definite thing to do, for it would manipulate mercilessly and all memory of joy and trust would vanish like a candle blown out by a cold gale. I heard the voice again. . .it was so pure, so beautiful. How could it be simply an illusion?

"Hith, Híthriel," it murmured in distant undertones. "Can you hear me? Please, it's me. Hear me. Please."

This could not be an illusion; could it be? Slowly I turned from the one I had flung to the ground and to the voice. I listened as I saw, and the sight of my long lost friend seized the breath out of my lungs. It was Mae, but could it be Mae? I would find my answer soon enough. I placed one foot in front of the other until I was close enough to touch him. The voice was still murmuring my name as I reached out and touched his shoulder. . .

It was real. Solid, and real. Not an illusion. What happened yesterday? Yesterday. . .

Suddenly the memory of it all came flooding back into my mind and I looked at my hands in disbelief.

"Mae?" The shivering voice came uncertain, mistrusting.

I glanced back at the one on the ground and as the moonlight fell on his face at last I could see that it was Káno. In despair yet consolation I fell to my knees. Slowly, Káno got up from the ground and them both came back to me.

It's been so long. . .


	4. Chapter III

CHAPTER III

* * *

— _2 seasons later—_

The sky was darkening when I wandered out of my chambers to observe the sunset. My eyes looked west for a while, then my gaze turned north to Ard-galen and what was beyond. After a few moments I averted my eyes and turning away, I began to head down the hill to the old spot by the stream.

I passed by the grey shapes of trees, the silhouettes of rocks, the shadows of hills over painted vales. Now the stars were scintillating overhead as I kneeled down by the stream and looks down into the water. The night seemed colder now—darker and more silent than it was before.

But suddenly this vigilance was broken, for I felt breath and the dull thumping of a heart nearby. Every muscle in my body tensed. I was not alone.

Warily I lifted my head to glance into the trees on the other side of the little stream, my breath coming in short gasps and my heart thundering in my chest. The energy around me seemed to pulse—pushing forward and pulling back, and soon the movement melded into one. I stepped onto my feet, controlling every small, calculating movement carefully like a leopard slinking in the ferns, preparing to leap onto her prey.

Suddenly there was a vicious growl and a flash of movement and I was barreled to the ground by a giant werewolf. Grunting under the weight, I slashed my dagger across the werewolf's belly. He roared and reared backwards as I threw him off. Leaping to my feet, panting, we began to circle each other.

The werewolf growled, baring his teeth, and I growled in return, speaking in the dreaded tongue of Angband.

"Why have you come, servant of Morgoth?" I hissed, curving the ends of words with a sharp edge like a snake's tongue that flicks out before she strikes.

And the werewolf laughed a cold laugh that made me feel as if I had no flesh, and I was standing naked as a skeleton with only bones chafed by long numberless years.

"I know who you are," he said, every bit of the sentence tinted with malice and deceit. "I've seen you—deep in the depths of Angband. You're the—"

"Enough," I commanded, the voice distant and cold, unfeeling, although it shook a little.

As if he caught the weakness in my voice, the werewolf laughed again. "The hour is late—too late. The storm is coming."

"What do you mean?" my voice wavered.

The circle became ever tighter and I could feel the foul breath of the creature before my face.

"Your city will fall," he breathed.

With a cry, I threw myself at the werewolf and with wings unfurling from my back, I used the force to push the creature to the ground, forcing him to yield.

"Tell me," I snarled, hissing through my teeth, "What devices of cruelty shall the Dark Lord fling on us now?"

The werewolf's look of astonishment ebbed and he began to thrash about but I pushed my blade down on his throat. Then suddenly the creature laughed and dark, sticky blood trickled from his throat where the blade mercilessly pressed.

"You know it all, elleth," he drawled. "You have seen it in the depths of Angband." Then the vile laugh became a cough as he choked on his own blood, lifting his head so the skin broke on the blade and black blood gushed out of the wound. Gingerly I let go and turned away as the throbbing energy of his life force ebbed into nothing. When I turned around again, lying there was a small raven-haired ellon with a deathly pale countenance. Inky black blood surrounded the body, but crimson blood rolled out now, and shrouded the former.

* * *

I dived into a descent, feeling the air under my wings tense as I beat them and let them vanish as I landed atop Mae's balcony, plummeting from the sky. Grunting, I threw the covered body of the werewolf upon the ground and came upright, facing Mae. His hands were behind his back and he had a disapprovingly calm expression.

"Care to explain yourself?" he said in the most normal voice as if we were talking of science, which was an unstudied field back then.

I stood up then, and spoke quickly. "I was out, and attacked," I said, gesturing at the hump on the ground. "A werewolf—the last spy before the storm."

Although his eyes did not widen, I could sense the slight bit of dismay in his voice. "You think it's happening now?" he said, turning his back to me.

"Here is the evidence," I said without pointing to anything.

Mae bent down and uncovered a bit of the body. When he stood up again we met each other's eyes, exchanging a knowing look. He nodded once and was at the door when I spoke again.

"I broke into his mind to make sure," I said without looking at him.

"I know," said Mae. Then he was gone.

I stood there for a moment but left promptly, heading through the doorway with hardly another glance back.

* * *

One night I was wandering

'Round and 'round the waters

A man approached me

Slowly, reluctantly

Unsure of my existence

Was real or not

'Are you lost?' he asked.

I looked up.

'I'm looking for an escape.'

— _Are you lost?_

* * *

Mae prepared the soldiers that night for an onslaught and a rider was sent out to bring the news to Hísilómë and to others, although we did not expect it to be anytime anon; perhaps at least a season or two. It was a few hours after midnight when I came upon him in the corridor after the majority of the devising had ended. His gaze was cast upon the ground as he strode down the corridor and he nearly ran into me before he realized I was in front of him. When he saw me, he sighed and put a hand on my shoulder, leading me to my chambers.

"Túlë," he said. "We have much to speak of."

I settled in the wooden chair by the table, gazing out of the windows lightly veiled with frost, and he sat across from me, leaning his chin against his hand. We kindled no lights but lingered in the near darkness, the stars reflecting in our eyes.

"So it comes to pass at last," he murmured. "What we have long awaited. Do you remember when, in the Mereth Aderthad, I told you that it would be more than thirty years that anyone thinks of war?"

My lips barely moved. "Yes." It seemed so long ago; then I was only a naive Elda of twenty-seven.

"It's an odd feeling, knowing that the time has finally come. It has been sixty-two years since the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, sixty-two years since my imprisonment to Angamando, sixty-two years since Finno found you in Lammoth and brought you to Mithrim." He paused. "And it has been two seasons since you returned here, to Himring. I don't want to make you feel obliged to ride out to Angamando. I would rather you stay and defend the hills of Himring."

I laughed, a scornful sound. "I do know that, Mae. Do not think I have not already thought of this. My fears have been conquered now; I will not be afraid when our host rides forth to Angamando."

"For that I am glad," he said, but he looked down.

"You lie," I retaliated.

"No." He glanced out the window. "I am glad that you have thought of this, yet I know that your fears have not yet been conquered."

"You have no right to speak of that," I hissed.

"All right," he said in resignation. "I agree. But you asked."

"I did not."

He sighed but said nothing.

"Your silence annoys me," I said.

"It would annoy you more if I spoke."

"What were you going to say?"

His eyes glinted in the starlight. "You've changed."

"Why, of course. Am I to stay the same after sixty-nine years? Am I to stay the same after _Angamando_?"

"Hith—"

"Am I to stay the same and pursue that ridiculous ambition of wanting to be Findekáno's second-in-command? Am I to still do that after I know the true meaning of _why_ people reject me? Am I to stay the same when I cannot ever sit down without thinking someone is behind me? Am I to stay the same when I cannot return home to Hísilómë because the people who knew me before would mistrust me and call me a—a whore? Am I to stay the same when I feel all of this?" I shook my head in despair, to yet it all away from me, the terrible emotion rushing up like a tsunami crashing down upon the distant shores. "Why is something as simple as sitting in a chair so difficult? I won't ever stop listening—listening for some sort of nonexistent terror, something that's _not even there_. Wherever I go, the first thing I do is look for all the exits. I remember when I used to feel at ease, when my heart could be content and I could rest. That feeling is gone. It has vanished. Completely. They are always watching."

I barely noticed the tears streaming down my face; I wanted so badly to feel peaceful again, I wanted to feel alive. . .

When I looked up at Mae, his lips were parted, as if he were about to speak. The scar stretching down the left side of his face seemed to be white in the moonlight and I saw in his face the same pain that I felt, the same grievous pain that haunted us every moment of our existence, no matter if we knew it or not.

My gaze went to the vase on the table, its flowers orchids of pale white, and abruptly I noticed something was off. "Why—why is the table trembling?"

Mae immediately shot out of his chair, his eyes wide with dismay.

I got up reluctantly, bewildered. "What's going—"

He leaped for me suddenly, dragging me away from the window. "Get away from the—"

And the land was seized with a violent convulsion, only the prelude to the assault. The windows exploded with the sudden strain and the shards flew across the room, raining atop us as we were thrown off our feet. The blast was followed by a few smaller tremors that shook the halls mercilessly.

I hissed and wrenched a shard of glass out of my arm then jerked my chin at Mae. "Guess we were wrong."

He was taken aback by my sardonic humor but didn't linger on it long as we stumbled up, the ground still shaking beneath us. We staggered across the corridors, staying close to the walls and the ground to aid our balance. Mae went to call forth the soldiers as I hastened outside.

Looking from atop a slope, I saw as the Iron Mountains vomited flame and fire came from fissures in the earth and Orcs poured forth across Ard-galen. Many of the warriors lingered in Himring to defend the city and its outskirts; they made a wide perimeter around the land, and as Mae gave these orders I approached him.

"Orcs have already come forth across Ard-galen. We must ride out swiftly; some smaller Orc bands stray near," I said, gesturing to the north.

He nodded briskly. "The main host will go through the Gap then north to Ard-galen," he said to the commanders, who dipped their heads and retreated to their groups.

Mae began to stride forward. "Knowing Ñolofinwë and Findekáno, they will probably go through the Pass of Sirion then push north. It is best we mirror them so we may corner the Orcs and destroy them there."

"I am going with the main host," I said.

"So be it." He sprang onto his horse. "Ride with me?"

The corners of my mouth tilted upward. "Absolutely."

* * *

We rode east from Himring through the March, and as we drew near we came upon a band of Orcs plundering the Gap. They were many and armed, and some had wolves as steeds; but they were few compared to the riders beginning to advance upon them. Without hesitation we rode them down, and circling around slaughtered the rest. Then we rode northwest through the land of Lothlann, towards the fortress of Angband.

Indeed Mae's speculation had been correct; we came upon Morgoth's main host from the east as it was assaulting Dorthonion and the host of Hithlum advanced from the west. They were caught, between hammer and anvil, and we pursued them across Ard-galen, destroying them utterly, to the least and last, within sight of Angband's gates.

I had lost my steed by then, and stood in the fields of Ard-galen, staring ahead at the land of Dor Daedeloth and the gates of Angband. All around the corpses of the servants of Morgoth lay in the ruined grasses, spears and arrows protruding out of them. The evening sun seemed to glare down at me though it was small; the blaze of the light reflected against the daunting Gates, a menacing admonition. The fortress towered over me, transforming me into something so small, so weak, so helpless. I was inches from the massive shadow it cast upon the ground, and gazed down at it then at the unmoving beady black eyes of the carcass of a wolf.

"Hith."

I started, springing into a stance and drawing my daggers. But it was only Mae.

Sheathing the blades, I tried to relax but my muscles were still stiff with trepidation. He walked over the wolf's body and put a reassuring arm around me, turning to face Thangorodrim.

"I haven't been this close to it since my imprisonment," he said, unflustered. I was slightly astounded by his cool demeanor; he sounded so calm, so confident—something that I would never be sure of for myself. He paused for a moment then, and in the same voice he spoke. "It makes me afraid."

"Does it?" My voice was faint.

"Yes," he said. "It does."

"Ironic," I muttered, and he smiled. No more was said then, and the barren grasses trembled in the oncoming gale as Vása retreated in the west.

* * *

Thereafter it was named Dagor Aglareb, the Glorious Battle, the third great battle of the Wars of Beleriand.

 _A victory it was, and yet a warning; and the princes took heed of it, and thereafter drew closer their leaguer, and strengthened and ordered their watch, setting the Siege of Angband which lasted wellnigh four hundred years of the Sun. For a long time after Dagor Aglareb no servant of Morgoth would venture from his gates, for they feared the lords of the Noldor; and Fingolfin boasted that save by treason among themselves Morgoth could never again burst from the leaguer of the Eldar, nor come upon them at unawares._

 _Yet the Noldor could not capture Angband, nor could they regain the Silmarils; and war never wholly ceased in all that time of the Siege, for Morgoth devised new evils, and ever and anon he would make trial of his enemies. Nor could the stronghold of Morgoth be ever wholly encircled: for the Iron Mountains, from whose great curving wall the towers of Thangorodrim were thrust forward, defended it upon either side, and were impassable to the Noldor, because of their snow and ice._

 _Thus in his rear and to the north Morgoth had no foes, and by that way his spies at times went out, and came by devious routes into Beleriand. And desiring above all to sow fear and disunion among the Eldar, he commanded the Orcs to take alive any of them that they could and bring them bound to Angband; and some he so daunted by the terror of his eyes that they needed no chains more, but walked ever in fear of him, doing his will wherever they might be. Thus Morgoth learned much of all that had befallen since the rebellion of Fëanor, and he rejoiced, seeing therein the seed of many dissensions among his foes._

But in Himring I lived in disquiet, for after the flight from Thangorodrim and the unveiling of my peculiar abilities I indeed wondered who my father had been and how this had suddenly been revealed. I knew that Findaráto could do some similar things, yet I knew also that he could not alter his form to sprout wings. In fact, it was quite unheard of for any known individual to be able to do so, yet withal I was angry at myself to have been so weak, to have succumbed to the darkness and given information at such a free will. Thus I trained rigorously, and at times I would catch Mae watching me, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Yes?" I said at last, turning to face him.

"You've improved considerably well," he told me, his hazel eyes showing nothing but sincerity, something I had not seen, had not felt in so long that it felt alien.

"Thank you. Will you spar with me?"

He appeared to be incredulous. "That wouldn't be fair," he said, mock pouting, even as the steel of his word glinted in the setting sun.

"For you, or for me?"

"For both of us. For my part, I only have one hand."

"The world doesn't play fair in its games," I said.

He smiled faintly, and began pulling his hair into a frizzled bun. "Well said."

The ghost of a smile played upon my lips. "That I hope."

* * *

By the time we had finished, the light of Vása had vanished beneath the horizon, and the innumerable stars speckled the night sky. We had both been quiet for a while, each immersed on straying thoughts of our own. In the distance I could see the bare boughs of the lone tree in the fortress of Himring as we rested upon the grass in the hills of the March, and farther beyond I could see the Mountains of Dorthonion to the west and Mount Rerir, in the lands of Thargelion where Moryo dwelt, to the east.

At last I sighed, a faint cloud breezing before my lips as I did. "I'm leaving for Menegroth tomorrow morning."

"Why?" he asked softly.

"Maybe Artanis and Melyanna can help me hone and control my. . .abilities," I said. "I don't think I can stand this much longer. I feel so. . ." I broke off, for I didn't know what to say.

"It's all right," he murmured. "I know how you feel. . .you are not alone in this."

I said nothing.

"When I. . .when Finno came for me at last atop Thangorodrim, I asked him—I asked him to end my life." His face was veiled in the shadow of night, and although I could have turned to watch the emotions mixed in his expression, I did not; I could have imagined it well enough. "I thought there was no way out. We were so lucky Thorondor came before—before. . ." He drew in a shaking breath, turning to me. "I wish you luck on your journey to Menegroth."

I turned then, studying the look upon his countenance. "Thank you."


	5. Chapter IV

CHAPTER IV

* * *

 _Menegroth, 61_

"Artanis, you have to help me," I said, keeping my voice as steady and demanding as I could.

She looked at me for a moment, then opened her door wider. "Tell me. What do you need?"

So as she ushered me in a seat and handed me chamomile tea, I told her all that had changed since I had last gone to Menegroth, and of the curse of doom that was now etched into me, then at last: "I want you and Melyanna to train me. Please."

She poured more tea in my cup although I had not touched it. "And it's only been twenty-one years," she said. I watched as slowly she set the silver kettle down. "I will." She rose from the seat. "I'll go to Melyanna." She had begun to head out of the room when I stood up swiftly.

"Artanis?" She paused in her steps then looked at me. "May I ask you to not tell of this to anyone else?"

She nodded and disappeared out the door. When I had been sure that her footsteps had receded beyond the corridor, I sunk into the chair and covered my face with my hands.

* * *

In the next years I trained vigorously with Artanis and Melyanna, but in secret. I learned to control the use of my wings quite well and the abstract arts of sairina, however we did not uncover the reason why I had them, or who was my father, although Melyanna guessed that it was a Maia.

Sometimes I still think if I were as powerful as Artanis, I would throw down the walls of Angamanado and make them _bleed_ ; and if I were as strong as Melyanna, I would create a girdle so powerful it would crush Angamando to a thousand broken pieces. Yet I was neither—at least not thus far.

My existence was curiously interesting to Melyanna; I knew I reminded her of Lúthien her daughter, yet instead of being Moriquendi I was Calaquendi. Although I was not completely sure of all of my heritage, I was probably mostly Noldor.

But in the year sixty-seven the Elu Thingol had learned of the terrible deeds of the Noldor—Fëanor, the Silmarils, the Kinslaying, and banned the language of Quenya in Beleriand. He still proclaimed himself to be the King of Beleriand, although he only controlled a small part of it. Although he permitted the House of Finarfin to venture into Doriath, the House of Fëanor and of Fingolfin were strictly prohibited to enter. As a result of this he became increasingly rude to both Artanis and I, even though neither of us has participated in those events. I was born after and Artanis had merely been a silent onlooker.

Then soon Thingol's insolence went too far and I snapped, finally leaving Doriath two years after the banishment of Quenya. Artanis would not go, for she had her husband in Menegroth. My training was finished anyhow; my abilities had grown much since I had first gone.

I left Doriath in a flurry and had no definite destination until I reached the River Mineb. I stood atop the rock overlooking Dimbar, and swept my gaze across the land, then I knew at last I must return.

* * *

 _Hísilómë, 69_

I had not been to Hísilómë in eighteen years. . . it wasn't a very long while, but it seemed like ages of Arda since I had last seen atto and Finno.

Circling around my old chambers, I gently ran my fingers along the bookshelves, brushing the dust off of them. It was lit dimly by the shadowed dusk; all seemed to be washed away, as if a grey curtain had been drawn over them and I was peering through the other side but could not return. My eyes swept over the books scattered on the ground, pages fluttering in the light breeze. I picked one up and dusting off the cover, I flipped it open. It was a journal of my own, filled with my adolescent angsty poetry. I read through the pages slowly, trying to remember what it felt like to be young and naive again. . .

 _Dusk retreats over the shadowed hills,_

 _Dimly lighting the candles of the past._

 _The flicker of fire is faint_

 _Like it was just about to vanish._

 _Everything seems so different now;_

 _The world is veiled,_

 _As if a diaphanous grey curtain_

 _Had been drawn over it all._

 _In the fire I can see the old times,_

 _And I can almost remember them_

 _As if they were yesterday. . ._

 _Yet I don't feel the same._

 _Sometimes I wish I would,_

 _Though I know I never can again._

I heard Finno's soft footsteps in the hall before he had even come through the open door. Quietly, I set the journal down but did not turn. I heard him take a few more cautious steps forward.

"Híthriel? Titta nettë?"

I turned then. "Findekáno."

It was reluctant at first, but at last we embraced long, savoring the time in this world we had left.

"I've missed you so much."

* * *

I knew of the rejection and contempt I would receive from the people, but really knew nothing of what it was like until it actually happened. I stayed in Hísilómë only to be with atto and Finno, but I wouldn't last long there; after six years I knew the only place I could return was to Himring. Therefore I went to Finno and told him thus:

"I'm know," I murmured. "I know, Finno. But I don't belong here anymore."

* * *

In the following years I dwelt mostly in Himring, and made occasional trips to other realms. Nargothrond was finally completed in 102 and Turukáno's Gondolin in 116. I went to visit both of them but the trips were short, for I was still mistrusted there. In Gondolin I was reunited with Laurefindil, Ecthelion, Irissë, and Turukáno, however there they went by their Sindarin names; Irissë's was Aredhel, Turukáno's was Turgon, and Laurefindil's was Glorfindel—I liked to tease him by calling him Glorfy or Glorfo or Glorfyo. There was an endless combination of nicknames I could configure.

This, for me, had been quite a humourous, relatively lighthearted time, I think, or perhaps it is because my memory of this grows dim, but somewhere around 172 all in the House of Finwë gathered in Hísilómë for a family reunion, which included the sons of Fëanor, House of Fingolfin, and House of Finarfin. Although it was greatly opposed by atto and Mae, Tyelko brought out about a hundred bottles of Sindarin wine for around twenty-five people, going to about four bottles per person, which absolutely no one but himself could finish.

Fortunately I couldn't down more than a few sips and Tyelko knew that; he didn't try too hard to make me play their drinking game, probably because I threatened to smite him all the way back to Himlad, but he did make me play a game of poker with the rest of his brothers.

Káno was pouring himself wine in a vase, and Tyelko was making peculiar and consistent hand gestures and muttering something to Tyelpe, who was nodding dully and repeatedly and occasionally giving me nervous glances. Moryo was scribbling numbers on a piece of paper, and as I peered closer I could see that he was calculating probabilities. Curvo was dramatically tossing grapes into his mouth, never missing one, while eyeing his son suspiciously; Telvo was politely stealing Káno's vase wine. Glorfy was expertise spying on Moryo's probabilities as Ecthelo glared at him with an unreadable expression. Findaráto came in the room, and glancing nervously about, decided to join in because I gave him a chin jerk. All the while, Mae was pretending to be bad at shuffling with his one hand.

I sat with my arms crossed at the edge of the table next to Mae, watching them all. Finno sat across from me, his hands also crossed, so we were like mirror images of each other.

At last Moryo slammed his writing utensil down, which was who knows what, and simultaneously stabbed a cheese knife into the table so hard that it rocked.

"Nelyo. You're done shuffling. Pass out the fucking cards."

Mae smiled in an impossibly helpful way. "As you wish." Impossibly smooth, he slid the cards over to each. Findaráto was beginning to regret he had come into the game already, so I teamed up with him, which didn't seem fair to Tyelko, but it didn't exactly matter. Tyelpe stood behind his chair, for he was not playing; he was just there for moral support. Moryo watched silently, intently, at Mae's every movement and Mae grinned at him.

Whenever Tyelko was losing, he shouted at Tyelpe to get out of the room but when he was winning told him to stay by his side. Moryo began issuing death threats to friends and family and almost bet his entire house. Inspired by his older brother, Curvo began threatening to kidnap everyone as Telvo glared at everyone, bored, while Káno nearly lost his pants to Moryo. Finno ended up going on impulse and betting on things he should not have. Glorfyo and I ended up standing on the table and yelling at each other as Ecthelo and Findaráto tried to get us to calm down, however that made me start to dance on the table, which was actually a trick to win.

After everyone grew tired of Mae talking shit about philosophy while winning consistently, they began to arm wrestle each other. Tyelko ended up dislocating Curvo's shoulder at one point and Artanis had to come in and put it back, which meant that she and Teleporno were joining in the fight. It became an arm wrestling tournament, a competition for the grand championship.

Mae played nice on everyone; very few were able to move their hands from the initial position. After watching Artanis cheat and use a bit of sairina to slam Curvo's hand to the table, I smashed Ecthelo's hand with a bit too much sairina that Mae noticed and beat me. It all came down to atto, Finno, Mae, Tyelko, and Tyelpe. Finno and Mae were both too nice to each other and didn't feel like winning, so they ended up drinking more than should have been done. Tyelpe beat Tyelko to the latter's unsuppressed rage, and he also beat atto. Thus Tyelpe became the unexpected, triumphant winner of the grand championship of the prestigious House of Finwë arm wrestling tournament.

However Tyelkormo's defeat led to a unsystematic fight in which he provoked, of course. He tried to slap Tyelpe for disobeying him and betraying his moral support so I flipped him over the table. Mae tried breaking it up but unfortunately he got too drunk with Finno so he couldn't do anything correctly. Of course, I won because I only drank a few sips of the dizzying Sindarin liquor.

The next day, everyone acted like everything was all normal, which it was.

* * *

 _Hísilómë, 260_

Yet in this year a new creature was unleashed into the world. It was told that the creature, called a dragon, was created by Morgoth in the very depths of Angband, and it ravaged Ard-galen, though it was young and scarcely half-grown, attempting to push forward to Ered Wethrin and Dorthonion and destroy all in its path. I expected Findekáno to lead a force to combat this onslaught, and so arming myself, I rode out to Hithlum (which is Hísilómë in Sindarin) to join him. I craved more of a family reunion than a victorious field, although the hour was dire, and thus our paths met in the very north of Ered Wethrin.

"Greetings, titta nettë," he said as I approached.

"Greetings, Findekáno," I replied, glaring at him pointedly; there were many others around us, making it improper to call me that especially at this time.

"Have you come to raise hel—"

"Yes, I have come to help with the drag queen incident—forgive me, I may have gotten the word wrong; it's probably dragon. Yes, I believe the word is dragon. Both words are alien to me, so it matters not. Anyhow, I believe we should get going before the drag queen—dragon—gets to Dorthonion, because it will get there soon if we do not begin to get going."

"Indeed, we are leaving right now," he said.

"Right now? I just got off my horse."

Finno crossed his arms. "All right, just what do you want to do, titta nettë?"

"I did not refuse to leave right now, I merely complained," I said.

"Very clever," he drawled, and unsystematically fist-bumped my shoulder.

Among the Eldalië there were many of Hithlum's most valiant archers on horseback. I recognized a few of them but most hardly remembered me, which I supposed was good. We set off as quickly as we had come, hastening to the field of Ard-galen, and there we hemmed the dragon round in a ring and made swift advance with our many arrows.

"Leithio i philinn!" Finno shouted, and a tempest of arrows flew as a dark wind at the dragon, who bellowed and swished its tail to and fro, forcing the horses to swerve.

"It's a young one, by the looks of it," he said.

I notched another arrow on my bow and took aim. "How do you know?"

"It's alone, without backup, which makes it seem that it came out against orders. Therefore it is not here by Morgoth's will. He is too thickheaded and ludicrous for such deeds as experiments. Behold, its armor is still underdeveloped."

I let my arrow fly. "Behold? Interesting vocabulary to use."

The dragon, still with underdeveloped armor, fled back to Angband.

* * *

There was much rejoice over the defeat of this unforeseen attack, and Findekáno won great praise. Many were ignorant of the potential danger this new creature of Morgoth's creation would be later on, including Findekáno. I warned him of this, but he was busy. I do expect it was a misdeed on my part to tell him this while we were celebrating and much more half of us were very un-sober. I myself am a terrible drinker so I tended, and still tend, to avoid alcohol even though the new access of Sindarin wine tempted me greatly.

After a few days I returned to Himring, however, for I would never stay anywhere else for long anymore. And in the following years there was a time now known as the Long Peace, which lasted wellnigh two hundred years. Numerous towers and dwellings were built; architecture was a thriving art especially for the Noldor, and many fair things were made in those days—poems and histories and books of lore. The Eldar in those times wandered far and wide, fearing naught in the Long Peace, yet the beautiful must always die.

About a hundred years after the appearance of the first dragon, which we found was called Glaurung, Findaráto sent me a letter, inviting me to visit Nargothrond again, yet he had urgent news that he also had to tell me. I left soon after I received the message and wondered what could be so pressing.

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Titta nettë._ (Q) Little sister.


	6. Chapter V

CHAPTER V

* * *

 _Nargothrond, 321_

The hue of the leaves falling from the pale boughs of the beech trees were as orange as the sunset, for it was Quellë, and that is the season of fading or autumn, as you may know it, the time of lasse-lanta or 'leaf-fall'; it was so immensely covered in the color it seemed that a curtain of orange-tinged gold had been drawn over the forested terrain. A few days back I had crossed Aelin-uial in the south of Doriath and the Fens of Sirion, and now I approached the hills north of Taur-en-Faroth. The trees of Nargothrond were thick, quite suitable for concealing spies and hidden figures, hence the name of Talath Dírnen, and I touched lightly upon the threads of energy around me, seeking Findaráto's presence.

"Please don't startle me again, Findaráto. I know you're there," I said.

Findaráto sprang from the thick bough of the tree a little away from me. "Are you referring to that time in Hísilómë, Lady Híthriel?" A smile played at his lips.

"Indeed. I do not enjoy being startled such, as you may have experienced."

"Ah, yes. I believe I still do have the bruise you so kindly implanted upon my leg," he said breezily, "or at least I remember it."

"Why forgive me, Lord Finrod Felagund," I said, unable to keep back my smile. "That is a grievous—" I paused suddenly. "Are your spies watching?"

He laughed then. "No," he told me. "I have come alone."

"I see," I said, pressing my lips together.

"Welcome to Nargothrond, Hith," he announced, gesturing to the trees around us.

"I feel very welcomed," I said as we began to walk to the hidden realm. "Mae and Káno have told me of the 'adventures' that you have found."

"Adventures? Is that what they call them?"

"To me, really, I feel it is that they were merely jealous that you abandoned them on that hunt and found the treasure for yourself," I jested. "I would like to see them for myself."

"You would," Findaráto said earnestly. "Although they live in Dorthonion now, and I miss their company greatly."

"What are they called again?" I asked.

"A-ta-ni," he told me, pronouncing each syllable slowly. "Humans."

I repeated the word, and he beamed with excitement. "Very interesting," I said. "But what was that you called me all the way over to Nargothrond for?"

"Ah. That." Findaráto bit his lip.

I hurried to keep up with his long strides and pestered him for answers. "Please tell me what it is, Findaráto, before I see it."

"Hith, I will, it's merely that—" he paused, then turned to me. "All right," he said. "A fortnight ago I went hunting—"

"You went hunting?" I said blankly. "No, never mind. Go on."

"I went hunting with a few others," he began again. "I'm going to get to the point quickly. Some of them strayed, and were waylaid by orcs, who took them captive. But they were rescued—by one of their own."

"Hm," I said, trying to sound uninterested, glad for the shadows of the fortress of Nargothrond.

"The orc had unbound them and set them free but they barely escaped with their lives."

"With the orc?" I asked.

"Yes," Findaráto said. "Yet we found that it really was not an orc, but a dark twisted creature, once a Maia."

"Thuringwethil?"

"No," he told me. "Another."

"I see." I had brought my voice to a hissing low murmur. "And you think I may know this creature, because of my time in Angamando?"

"I do not know," Findaráto said, averting his gaze. "I only thought you could help."

 _My own dear friend is turned against me,_ I thought disdainfully. "All right then," I whispered. "If it so pleases you, Lord Finrod Felagund of Nargothrond, Hewer of Caves."

"Hith, that is not what I meant—"

"And you do not know what _I_ meant, either, meldonya," I said. "Now let me do the duty you have given to me, unless I have come all the way from Himring for nothing."

Findaráto drew in a long breath. "All right," he said at last, quietly. "Go on. The door at the end of the corridor."

"Not a dungeon," I noted.

"We found no need."

I did a quick survey of the exits again and strode forward, not looking back to see if Findaráto followed. Two guards stood at the door, yet it was unlocked and unbarred, and clicked easily open as I turned the handle. Even with the absence of these precautions, my muscles were taut and readying for danger, and I could feel the sheaths of my daggers upon my back—but I found what I did not expect.

The blood drained from my face, my eyes flew open in bewilderment, and I almost let my legs give out.

My nightmare had become real.

* * *

Sometimes the world is ill-wrought in the lies and deceit it brings. The hallucination was one of so long ago from my imprisonment in Angamando—the one that had triggered my violent escape; the one in which I had seen my mother turned into an Orc.

It was real.

Maybe she had been there at the same time I was, maybe—maybe. . .

"Ammë?" I whispered, and took a stiff step forward, but Findaráto's firm hand on my shoulder warned me to wait.

"A boy taught me a song once," she said, the voice harsh and guttral from screaming. "A beautiful song of drowned men. It was as lilting as cold steel upon soft pretty throats. I remember it quite clearly."

 _Ammë_ , I mouthed again. I felt a tear slide down my cheek.

She turned. Her eyes were ebony and speckled with crimson like fire and ashes except the ash enveloped the fire wholly so only embers flecked the surface, and her face sunken, the countenance pale as if all the blood had been leeched out of it. Her hair like a dark curtain of shadow drifted a little from the gale that came in through the window, almost how I remembered it.

"Do you know the story, child?" she inquired. "I think not. You are too young to know, too naïve. You have not sought the darkness, no, not yet, but perhaps you will."

 _She didn't know me._ "I. . .I—"

Findaráto prodded lightly upon the mental bond of ósanwë, and almost instinctively I let him in. _I'm sorry, I didn't know. . .but you need to talk to her. Talk to her, Híthriel._

I drew in a shaking breath, then lifted my gaze to meet hers. "The story is not foreign to me," I said, boring my eyes into hers fiercely. "I know it well."

"Perchance," she mused. "Yet not so well as I."

"Do you know the song of glass and water?" I said. "The black lake of mirrors, the inky blanket of it."

She looked at me incredulously. "I do."

"Do you know the song of midnight and shadow? Or the one of scarlet dawn?"

Something in her eyes flickered. "Why, you do know. Yet not so well as I."

I stepped forward. "Would you believe me if I told you that we've met, once before?"

"You know the songs that I do, child. Still I cannot say. . .No, I cannot say."

"I remember a silver stone," I told her softly, noting her every movement. "I remember a necklace beaded with silver stones, so bright and beautiful that it looked like dewdrops upon a blade of grass in the morning. Do you?"

Her eyes were wary, unsure, yet beneath that was her fëa fighting to remember.

I took another delicate, careful step forward, and reached out through the bonds of ósanwë, so perhaps she would _feel_ , she would _remember_. . .

She took a brisk step backwards, her eyes suddenly fiery. "Who are you," she hissed. "It cannot be. Sent by Morgoth's dog, are you?"

"No," I said, my voice soft but determined. "I am not an illusion."

"You called me _ammë_ ," she said, not believing what I had said. "How did you know that she called me that? Were Dor Daedeloth's dogs watching me even then?"

"No, ammë, it's me, it's really me." My voice was cracked and pleading now. "It's Híthriel, your child, your daughter."

"You are a good actress, servant of shadow. My daughter died long ago, in Lammoth. Your master would remember it."

Findaráto's hand on my shoulder tightened, as if trying to silently encourage me. "Very well," I said. "Let down your shield of ósanwë, and I will show you through sanwë-latya."

She seemed to sense something in me, for she stared long and hard at me then slowly let some of the shield melt down, just enough for me to show her what I had to.

I drew in a long breath and let it out shakily, then closed my eyes, reaching out to her fëa. To her mind I cast the memories we had when I was a child in the cottage upon the crag, the times we had together. The scent of the sea in them were so near that I could almost smell it, and the feeling of the stones at the strand so smooth that I could nearly feel it. I remembered the time she gave me the silver stone, and the time she made me a circlet of flowers for my hair.

Then seven years of my childhood passed, and I showed her what had happened when she did not return from the village, how I had stabbed that orc with the crumbling spear, and escaped into the woods, and how Findekáno had found me hiding, and taken me back to Mithrim to the other Noldor; yet I showed her but a fraction of my life in Hísilómë before drawing back, letting the memories fade into mist.

I opened my eyes, and lifted them to ammë. Her eyes were soft and melancholy now; the steel in them had dissipated somewhat, and I knew that she had _known_ , and she _remembered_.

She lifted a hand to touch my face, and brushed a lone tear away, although tears fell from her own eyes. "Hinanya," she whispered. "They told me you were dead."

* * *

Long did I take care of her and try to nurse her back to health, so perhaps somehow the past would come alive again. Yet I knew it never would, and she knew it too. She remembered me, surprisingly, and had regained some of her old self. Sometimes I would take her to walk a bit in the hidden woods of Nargothrond, and we would speak of those times long ago. I told her about my life in Himring, but spoke not of my time in Angamando.

It happened to be one day that I brought her to the markets of Nargothrond, often bustling and lively, teeming with Eldar who both bought and sold. Some artisans smiled shyly as they held aloft their works of jewelry and others shouted as they showcased their creations. There was the clang of metal and steel as blacksmiths worked at their craft and the tinkle of bells upon tents as people walked.

She had to wear gloves over her hands, for the claws that had been etched into her fingers would not be drawn out, yet we would not conceal her pale spectre-like countenance. Some of the Eldalië glanced oddly at her as we walked by, but for the most part no one paid any heed to us. I headed up to one of the stands and admired a small glass carafe filled with white sand.

"Do you like this one?" I asked ammë, picking it up and showing it to her. "It reminds me of the sea."

"Yes, it is very beautiful," she said, peering into the glass.

"It comes with a cork," the artificer told us, stepping forward. I handed it to him as he reached, deftly drawing a small cork out of his pocket and twisting it into the opening.

"You can fashion it in that manner," the artificer said, holding the carafe aloft in the palm of his hand, "or you can put some flowers into it." He produced a cluster of flowers out of his back pocket and popping the cork out, slid it into the carafe.

"That's beautiful," I complimented him, and glanced at ammë. "I think we'll get this one."

"It comes in a set," the artificer continued. "There are different sizes. . ."

As I listened to the artificer speak, nodding my head at his comments, I noted that ammë was staring distantly away past the gazes of others. When I finished paying, I took her hand and jerked my chin at some of the other stands.

"We should get a candle to go along with this," I told her. "What do you think? It would look very nice in your chambers."

"Yes, I would like that," she said, breaking her gaze away from her thoughts and back to me. "Why not that one over there?" I knew she was distracting me, yet we all were, so I paid no heed.

The other stand had a display of bracelets and necklaces along with the candles that we were looking for. When we approached, the artificer strode forward swiftly, and watched us intently, evidently very anxious for customers. She was a raven-haired elleth with eyes like a mantle of shadow, and she decorated herself lavishly with her trinkets and gems.

"Alatulya," the elleth said, spreading her hands to showcase her works. The golden bracelets clinked delicately at her wrists. "Feel free to ask me anything about my works. My name is Culuina."

We dipped our heads at her politely in recognition. "That circlet looks like the one you made me when I was little," I said to ammë, pointing at a silver one entwined with flowers.

"It does," she agreed, then lifted her fingers to a cerulean-jeweled silver necklace. "I think you would look nice in this one."

"Ah, yes," Culuina said, clasping her hands together. "You really would. Would you like to try it on?"

"I'll try it on if _you_ try it," I teased ammë. "I'm sure you would look like Queen Elbereth herself with it on."

"All right then, if you must," she said, brushing her hair back so I could put it on for her. Culuina placed the chain into my hand and I unfastened the clasp, placing it upon her neck.

"It looks lovely on you," I told her admiringly. "Perhaps—"

"You are not of Nargothrond," Culuina said suddenly.

I lowered my hands and turned to face the elleth. Her eyes were unexpectedly fierce and wary, mistrusting. "No," I said, uncertainly. "I am from Himring, actually, and this is my mother."

"Nor are you of Himring," Culuina hissed, her voice low and hushed, yet flooding with ire. "At least not _her_." She jerked her chin to ammë.

"What do you mean by this." My eyes bored into hers balefully.

"Do not take me for a fool," she said. "I _saw_ it. I _saw_ the mark upon her collarbone. I _saw_ the mark of the thralls of Angamando."

Ammë took a cautious step backwards, but I held Culuina's gaze. "You must be mistaken." I twitched, making sure that my own was concealed by my garb and hair.

"No," Culuina said. "I saw it. You _lie_." She rose her voice. "For you are a spy, are you not? That is the manner of all of your kind."

At that I retreated backwards, grabbing ammë's arm. "Forgive us if we caused you any inconvenience, but I can assure you that you were mistaken." Quickly I unclasped the necklace and slid it back to the artificer. "I'm sorry."

"Spies!" she shouted. " _Traitors_."

Ammë and I threaded our ways through the crowd of Eldalië hastily, sliding masks of indifference upon our faces as the elleth's voice rung behind us, like an admonition, like a curse.

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Quellë._ (Q) Autumn/fading. 54 days and runs from about the end of September to the latter part of November. Alternative Quenya name — _Lasse-lanta_ , or 'Leaf-fall' (S. _Firith_ and _Narbeleth_ ). _  
_

 _Ammë._ (Q) Mother.

 _Hinanya._ (Q) My child.

 _Eldalië._ (Q) Plural of _Elda_.

 _Alatulya._ (Q) Welcome.

 _Elleth._ (S) Female _Elda_.


	7. Chapter VI

_CHAPTER VI_

* * *

"Why your chambers?" I said upon coming into the room and seeing Tyelpe sitting with his arms crossed in a dark corner.

"Because it is more a private, exclusive, special, concealed, and undisturbed area," Findaráto answered as if he had prepared that entire list of synonyms. "You should be honored to be in here."

"Very honored by your invitation, _milord_ ," I mocked. "Yet I do not see why not Tyelpe's place, or my place is unfitting for the occasion."

"Perhaps because it was _I_ that invited _you_ , dear lady," he said. "Perhaps if _you_ had called the meeting it would be at _your_ place, and not _mine_ , and it would be _you_ that would have to prepare the tea and cookies for us." He handed me a magenta vase of tea which I barely even glanced at before handing to Tyelpe.

I sat myself down upon a chair at the wooden circular table as Findaráto continued to pour vases of tea for all of us. Tyelpe clicked his tongue and slid the vase back to me. "That one is yours."

"All right then, if you must." I folded my hands before my face and rested my chin upon it, my eyes following Findaráto as he walked, clearly impatient for him to sit down. When at last he did, I tarried a moment longer for Findaráto to take an uncustomarily long sip of tea from his ridiculous vase as a drinking vessel. "If you are quite finished, I do have a plan."

"Three months _have_ passed, pointedly," Tyelpe said. "You ought to have a plan."

I snorted, picking up my vase and observing the way the candlelight shone upon it. "It is uncourteous to interrupt a lady while she is talking."

"It seemed like your utmost desire to be interrupted," Tyelpe said, and I scowled at him. "But no matter. Go on, milady."

I decided to pointedly ignore him and turned to Findaráto, who was still drinking from his vase. "I seem to have a thought on bringing my mother to Himring."

Findaráto slowly lowered his drinking vessel, setting it neatly down upon the table. "I see."

"For what reason?" Tyelpe said. "Is Himring any better than here?"

"It's a smaller city," I told him. "Didn't you see how quickly tales had spread after our encounter with the artificer at the market? It is less likely to happen. The people are already politically disoriented here because Findaráto protects us."

Findaráto was silent.

"That may be true," Tyelpe said softly, "but the distance is far. Very far, if truth be told."

"It is the best chance we have," I said, crossing my arms. "There is nothing else we can do. Tyelpe and I will guard her on the journey but you, Findaráto, must remain here. The support of your people is immensely important. I cannot mar that relationship for you."

Findaráto's eyes had been lowered, brows furrowed in thought, but now he raised his gaze to mine, and held it. "Very well, I must say, although I cannot say that it is not a great risk for all of you. The roads are perilous."

"I made it here myself without any trouble," I said stubbornly, though I remembered the first time I had tried to come to Nargothrond.

"I know, Híthriel. I did not object."

"Are you willing to come?" I asked Tyelpe, turning to him.

"Yes," he said, yet spoke no other words.

Findaráto sighed. "I suppose it is decided, then. When will you go?"

"On the morrow," I told him.

"So soon?"

"There is no harm in making haste for this occasion," I said.

"Perhaps not," Tyelpe said. "And in that case, I suppose I must retire for the night since the day comes so soon."

"We meet at dawn," I told him as he dismissed himself from the chamber, giving a curt nod at my words.

For a brief while, Findaráto and I said nothing to each other, merely staring into the candle's dancing fire at the center of the table, lost in our own thoughts. I wondered if I should say what had been pestering my mind, that Artanis had told me a while back, and succumbed to silently observing his expression in the flickering light. Findaráto looked to be quite a young Noldorin ellon, for he smiled and laughed oft, although he was well into the second millenium of his years. He wore his golden hair unbound as usual, but did not don his customary golden circlet as King of Nargothrond.

In my younger years I loved to travel around the countries of Beleriand and see the cities of the different Eldarin realms, and now I remembered the time when I was young and naïve and had freshly returned to Hísilómë after a lengthy trip to Himring. Findaráto had offered to take me to Menegroth, the capital city of Doriath, and I had excitedly acceded to the idea. There I met Artanis again, for we had known each other when the Noldor made camp around Lake Mithrim, and befriended Melyanna, whose name was Melian, Queen of Doriath, and her daughter Lúthien, later given the epessë of Tinúviel.

I made up my mind then, suddenly, but made sure to make no notion of it in my expression. "Artanis told me of your foresight, and what you said."

He lifted his eyes to mine. "What did I say?"

"You spoke of the Fall of this realm, and an oath that you would swear. An oath that would take you into darkness."

"Did I say that, now? I can't seem to remember."

"You did," I told him. "Artanis said so."

He seemed eager to change the topic. "That was soon after Thingol forbid the Old Tongue in Beleriand."

"After he found out about the deeds of the Noldor," I remembered. "Angaráto told him, didn't he?"

"My brother did tell him, although Thingol had been asking me. I hesitated to answer, and he was wrathful."

"Frankly I do not understand him—the King of Doriath, I mean. Banning Quenya solved none of his troubles, undeniably," I said. "He was rude to us as Noldor even before he found out."

"With that I have to agree," Findaráto said, chuckling. "Although many of us still speak it outside of his realm."

My eyes sparkled with a sudden thought. "Do you remember what Nelyo said of him? ' _A king is he that can hold his own, or else his title is in vain.'_ I've always been so remarkably impressed with his artfully designed retorts."

"Right, because you were hiding in the brier as we held our very important council in Mithrim," he scolded.

"You cannot possibly be condemning me for that now! That was nearly three centuries ago," I exclaimed, crossing my arms again.

"Oh no, I just thought I should point that out now, to ensure that you know that I knew you were there, and so did everyone else. All you did was humiliate yourself."

"All I said was I enjoyed the joke. Nothing more."

"Well, neither did I," Findaráto countered.

We passed the rest of the night conversing lightly of these tidings, and spoke of the times in Hísilómë before.

Thus we made to return to Himring, thinking perhaps we could make the distance alive and unharmed. We set out in secret at dawn. My mother didn't speak much; in fact none of us did, although I tried to make conversation. Sometimes she asked me what I had been doing with my life, and I told her, but she seemed not to listen very often. I did not tell her of my imprisonment in Angamando, however.

The progress of the journey to Himring was slow—we had gone without steed for secrecy. We went around the Girdle at the edge of the woods of Doriath, then circled around Nan Elmoth, daring not to venture too deep into those woods.

"How far is Himring from Nargothrond?" Ammë said as we walked.

"I cannot say how many leagues, but it is northeast of the realm of Doriath, which we have just passed, and governed by Nelyafinwë. Hísilómë is northwest of Doriath, governed by the High King Ñolofinwë and Findekáno; and Dorthonion directly north. Thargelion is east of that, and governed by Morifinwë," I said. "Tyelpe here is nephew to them, as the only son of Curufinwë, fifth son of Fëanáro."

"Tyelperinquar is the unabbreviated ataressë of it," Tyelpe said, "but Tyelpe is just fine."

"How is Himring?" she asked. "What is the city like?"

"Quite different from Nargothrond," I told her. "Smaller, and quieter. It's generally cool there, hence the name 'the Ever-cold', but the snow is very beautiful in the wintertime. The city is atop the highest of hills in the Eastern March, and you can see Mount Rerir in the distance. Nelyo is a very kind ellon; surely you will be fast friends with him."

"That is good," she said. "I am glad you like it there. It sounds like a very. . .comforting place. As if you were sitting by a warm fire on a brisk evening."

I smiled to myself. "It is."

One night we rested near Nan Elmoth, my mother sitting with her back on the trunk of a tree, her eyes closed so that she might have been sleeping, except under the lids she was listening and intent. I crouched down on the grass, rummaging through my bag to find some of the provisions we had brought from Nargothrond.

"You should get some rest," Tyelpe said after a meager supper. "I'll take first watch."

I nodded wearily and leaned against the tree also, too tired to argue, and soon faded into the strange ways of dreams.

* * *

I awoke abruptly to a nameless fear, gasping for air, nearly smiting Tyelpe in the face.

"Sorry," I muttered. Then looking around, I started. "Where is she?"

"I don't know," Tyelpe said.

"What? What do you mean 'you don't know'?"

"She's gone," he said. "I don't know where she went. It's only been a moment since I lost her."

I shot to my feet. "Which—"

Something sharp and swift hissed through the air faster than the bite of an adder and a knee jabbed into my ribs, throwing me to the ground. When my head shot up, I saw that Tyelpe had brandished his sword and circled in front of me and there was a black arrow stuck in the tree above me. I instantly sprang to my feet and flipped my daggers into my hands.

"Thank you for that," I said, breathless.

"Pay attention," he snapped. "There seems to be more than just a few of them."

"We need to find her," I said. "They'll take her again. We can't let that happen."

"Or they'll take _you_."

"They won't," I growled. "I won't let them take any of us. Now help me find her."

His only reply was a yelp as an orc launched itself at him from the side. More began pouring from the shadows of the trees, overwhelming us. Tyelpe and I fought back to back but were cornered at the face of a boulder. I found myself thinking of my mother—if I died now and they found her. I imagined her, alone, sitting by the River Celon, awaiting the end. We all knew that there was no hope left for her, although I distantly wished alone in the darkness.

I couldn't save her, no matter if we survived today or not.

Suddenly there was a shout in the havoc. A warning.

A sharp jab of pain hit me in the side and I was slammed into the coarse bark of the tree. Tyelpe cried out as the orc lifted his sword for the death blow.

Yet at the moment, I didn't particularly care if I lived or not. I simply accepted my impending death as a fact, and lay there awaiting the end. I saw the tears streaming down Tyelpe's cheeks but I was already distant, unfeeling in another world.

The point of the blade drew closer to me but then I realized that something had stayed the blow, and stumbling upright beheld my mother wrestling the orc down. She shouted words incoherent to my ears as she advanced in the onslaught and beat the orcs to the ground. I struggled to my feet to aid her and Tyelpe. The band of orcs wilted and diminished with the great aura of fervor that came shining from her like a shield.

At last they were all gone, all dead.

I collapsed to my knees as my fingers felt the scarlet blood oozing from the wound at my side. She stood very tall and very straight, looking at me, orc blade still in hand. Her hair, now silver, seemed to scintillate in the moonlight peeking from the openings amongst the canopy leaves.

I was so occupied in staring at her face lit by the starlight that I didn't see the orc that leapt out of the shadows of the trees and thrust the dagger through her abdomen. The point of it protruded out of her chest, but all I saw was her face wrought with utter astonishment, yet there was something more—

Tyelpe sprang at the orc, dueling and cornering it into a merciless tangle of thorns. I did not stop to watch however, for I rushed to her side even as she fell.

"I wish. . ." she murmured, "I could have given you a happier life."

"No ammë, no," I said. "You've given me so much. Often times in those dark places I would remember those times with you, and the darkness would lift a little like a fog that could be stayed."

She smiled. "I am glad for that," she said, her voice growing faint. "I'm so fortunate to have you. . .you changed my life. It was really bad for me before, without you. Then when you came along, you changed everything. I could be happy again. The day you were born was the best day of my life."

Her fingers twitched. "Hold my hand," she whispered, "hold my hand."

I enlaced my shaking fingers with hers and the tears fell freely now, like a light spring rain upon the green mountains as I smiled back at her. Tyelpe hastened over and crouched down, and she turned her gaze to him.

"Promise me. . .promise me you'll take good care of her," she rasped. "Take care of your own well-being too. . .you're a good friend to her." Then she turned to me with a forced hissing, dying breath. She reached her hand up to touch my face but the reach was too far.

"Your father told me he saw you. . ."

The trembling hand fell, but before it could thump on the dirt I grasped it, and held it to my face. I said nothing in parting although Tyelpe murmured some quiet prayers.

It became an echoing nightmare in my accursed head.

* * *

 _A shadow of darkness has befallen_

 _Veiled are the stars in the firmament tonight_

 _A silent night is broken by a soft wisp of wind_

 _May that be her spirit straying away?_

 _No longer shall she sing the hymns_

 _Of whispering streams dancing in evenfall_

 _No longer shall she contemplate the dawn_

 _Flickering at the summits of the mountains_

 _Quietly the moon mourns the leave-taking_

 _A hushed song of sorrow drifts through the halls_

 _For a scintillating candle in the gloom she was_

 _Ere death stole her—farewell!_

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Epessë._ (Q) Chosen-name in Noldorin society.

 _Ammë._ (Q) Mother.

 _Ataressë._ (Q) Father-name in Noldorin society, the one generally used before an epessë is chosen.


	8. Part Two: Chapter VII

Part Two: Of Mending and Of Reconciliation

* * *

 _CHAPTER VII_

* * *

 _Himring, 438_

I had been sitting in the shadowed corner of the tavern for fifteen minutes and the bartender had come by and asked if I wanted a drink five times already. If he came for a sixth time, surely there would be no way to restrain me from stealing the harp some imbecile was playing on the other side of the room. I crossed my arms pointedly and made sure that the shadow of my hood veiled the features of my face so that hopefully no one would come by and utter some doltish words that I cared naught about. Silently I swore that I would knock the harpist's balls out someday for all the imbecilic songs he was loudly singing; it was some defiled version of _A Elbereth Gilthoniel_. What a disgrace. How could Mae allow such things in his valardamned city. Speaking of Mae, where was he. Why was fifteen minutes seeming like ages of the world when I was—

An immensely tall figure had just slipped into the room, and the cool breeze outside nipped my face even from the distance. The shadow of a smile played on my face as he sauntered to my table and settled into the chair across from me.

"Why here?" I demanded as I caught a glint of his crimson hair beneath his hood.

"It's more. . ." he paused, flicking his eyes around the room. "Discreet."

"You have an impaired judgement," I said, as the bartender strode across the room and asked us if we wanted a drink.

"Ah, two please," Mae said, and my eyes flared as I glared at him.

"Two of what, may I ask?" The bartender was erratically excited for the answer.

"Anything," Mae told him. "Whatever you have."

"It would be my pleasure," the bartender said, and scurried off.

Mae turned to me. "So what were you concerned about?"

"Not getting drunk while talking about politics," I said. "I don't want one."

"Me neither," he admitted. "I was just trying to be nice. That bartender looked very desperate. We can drink it after we talk."

"I don't—"

"We'll figure it out later," he said with a promising smile.

I sighed and shook my head, deciding that beginning talk of the the pressing matter now was more preferable than later. "I'm still unsettled even though the Siege seems to be somewhat functional. The spies have not returned and it has been many moons."

"I am aware," he said.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"That is fairly it." He glanced around and leaned backward in his chair comfortably as the bartender approached balancing a lavish tray with two pints, a large bottle, and a platter of garlic bread. I genuinely hoped that the bartender had not recognized Mae for then our plans would go awry, although there was not even much planned. One by one, he placed each expertly on the table, giving a posh introduction of them. Neither of us said anything in turn; we merely nodded politely.

"Would you like anything else?" the bartender asked.

"No, we're all right, but thank you," Mae told him. The bartender grinned and departed, bowing.

Mae turned to face my calculating glare. "Except for the fact that I have been planning a mission to spy on Angband and I am planning on recruiting you."

I tried not to look too surprised. "Oh? Is that so?"

"Mhm."

"And you're leading this, I believe?"

He took a piece of bread from the pile and examined it. "Indeed."

"Tell me the plan then," I said, eyeing the liquor.

"I heard from someone that Dorthonion is also having some. . .issues, so we will go to them first for some information. It will depend on where that information takes us for our next move, but it will most likely be Angband."

My lowered eyes did not waver. "And who else are you planning on taking?"

"I'm not all too sure yet," he confessed, "so you'll have to help me."

"All right then," I said. "So you want to spy on Angband, don't you?"

He was unfazed by my tone. "You should try a bite of this bread. It's quite delicious."

I narrowed my eyes. "You haven't even tasted it yourself yet."

"I've been here before," he said simply.

"I don't particularly care. I hope you plan on taking a small company for this mission. You would add two more people at the most. In fact it may even be better if it was just us."

"I've considered that," he said.

"And?"

"I have decided against it." He began mincing the bread with a knife.

"Why?"

"I think we would need backup on this mission, especially if it goes wrong."

I was silent for a moment. "All right," I said at last.

"With that I mean. . ." he paused. "I mean to tell you that it could fail. That there is a risk."

"I know," I said quietly and he looked at me for a response. "But I will go."

Abruptly I realized that the bartender was sauntering over again, but did not break his gaze. We were still immersed in a theatrical staring contest as he spoke.

"How are you all doing? Would you like a refill?" He glanced at our untouched food.

"No, we're all right," I told him.

"Having a nice date?"

"This is not a date," I said. "We are speaking of dark matters—take politics, for example."

"Oh, I see." The bartender eyed us suspiciously; our faces were still veiled. "Well, just call me if you want anything else."

"All right. Thank you." I nodded to him as he left again. "Make him stop coming," I said to Mae.

"How am I supposed to do that?" he raised his eyebrows.

"I don't know—aren't you kind of the lord of the city?"

His mouth quirked. "I don't see how that helps me."

"Great. Very helpful." I sighed and took a large swig of the liquor, then immediately gagged on it. "What the actual fuck is this."

A smile played at his lips. "Why are you drinking it in such large gulps?"

"I hate drinking."

"No one asked you to."

I laughed sarcastically. "I ask you to."

"For what reason?" he drawled.

"I don't know—maybe to see what happens?" My simper was mischievous.

He took a small sip. "Hm, this is indeed very strong."

I downed more of it quite theatrically. "I concur."

He chuckled. "You are insufferable."

"To that I concur also. Really, I'd rather be eating that bread."

He sighed. "We should start heading back."

"Why?" I inquired.

"Your voice sounds funny," he said.

"Hm? The world is kind of spinning. Can't really hear you."

"All right, just stay here. I'm going to go pay the—yes, just stay here." He got up from the chair and went over to the bartender.

It was then I suddenly noticed that the room was too warm yet I did not let my hood fall back although it was not me they would recognize. My eyelids felt heavy and it was laborious to keep them open. I was unexpectedly tired and sleepy, and just for a moment I closed my eyes, slipping into slumber before I had even comprehended it.

* * *

Dreamless it may have been, but there was always that dark tunnel, the feeling that something was dragging me down and sucking the joy out of me. It was quiet enough; the tunnel made no noise but the feeling was like the sound of waves howling in a storm. The tunnel itself was the calm lapping of the waves against rock.

Something jabbed into my arm, destroying the stillness of the tunnel, and I jolted, thinking it to be a threat of some sort. My eyes snapping open yet still barely seeing, I lashed out, grabbing the wrist and flinging the figure over my head.

Abruptly I remembered where I was and saw at last the bartender sprawled upon the ground, bewildered and perplexed. I was breathing hard, my eyes wide with alarm and my muscles still tense. My hood had fallen back now, and the bartender squinted at my face as he tried to get up. The room was quiet and all looked upon me.

"Oh my Valar I'm so sorry. . ." yet I could not go over to him.

"It's all right," the bartender said, although the voice was unsure. He stood up and braced himself on the counter. "It was that Telerin wine, wasn't it?"

I could not reply but Mae touched my arm softly. "We really should go."

I nodded and backed out of the door. "I'm sorry," I said again, and burst into the cold night air.

We strode briskly down the darkening road as a light rain began to fall. Nothing was said for a while, and I shivered, but from the night or from other occurrences I did not know.

Mae's breath formed a cloud around his mouth as he spoke. "You are not obliged to go."

"I was not—"

"Hith, I know. I understand you. You don't need to try to hide this from me. I don't want to force you into this mission. Do you understand me?"

"I have made my decision." I refused to look at him and kept walking. "I am going."

"Why did you drink so much?" he said.

"I hate drinking," I said again.

"So do I. It feels like someone's drugged you, doesn't it?"

I inhaled sharply. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Hith—"

"I don't want to talk about this. See you in the morning." With that I headed down the opposite corridor and into the shadows.

* * *

A grey light was shining through the window as I slipped out of my chambers and stalked down the corridor, wary despite the fact that I was still in Himring. The air outside was sweet yet sharp, filled with the scent of dew and the morn. I breathed it in deeply, feeling the clarity of it course through my lungs and descended down the stairs to the stables.

I was the first to be there, of course, for dawn was just breaking through the silver clouds and upon the earth. The horses were grazing on the dewfallen grass, tranquil in the quiet morning. Sitting on the wooden ledge, I watched them for a while, and my gaze swept over the vast expanse of the emerald hills, dewdrops scintillating amidst them. In my head I was beginning to ponder which horse I should ride on our passage to Dorthonion, and my eyes ran over the grazing horses. At last I wandered towards the grey horse that stood alone in the fields, and as I approached, she snorted and lifted her head. I sprang onto the ledge and settled there.

"Hello, Hiswasúrë," I murmured, stroking her neck.

"You're here," a familiar voice said from behind.

I turned. "I am. Good morning, Mae." There were three others behind him, armed for the crossing. Out of them all I only recognized one: Saerin son of Alcanáro.

"Good morning," he returned. "Allow me to introduce to you Morwinyon, Tindómë, and Saerin."

"You have brought more than I had expected," I said, then addressed the others. "Greetings. You may call me Híthriel."

"Well met," said the first, Morwinyon. "You can call me Morwë. I prefer it to the longer name."

"Morwë it is," I replied. "Shall we be going?"

"Indeed," Mae said. "We must ride in haste. Anon we must depart. Prepare yourselves."

The others dispersed to fetch their horses but Mae's had come over and nuzzled mine. His was brown as burnt sienna and the damp earth after a spring drizzle.

"What is his name?" I asked him.

"I call him Kemenélë," he told me.

"The celestial earth," I translated. "A beautiful name."

"And yours?"

"She is Hiswasúrë," I said.

He strolled over to Hiswasúrë and patted her neck. "Grey wind," he murmured.

There was a brief moment of silence as Kemenélë's tail flicked while the breeze swept across his mane.

"I was not sure that you would come," he said at last.

I laughed. "Did you doubt me so much?"

"No," he said. "I was merely unsure."

"Fair enough," I said, and sprang onto Hiswasúrë. He mirrored me as the others came treading over on their horses. The Eldalië rode bareback unfailingly, unlike the Edain.

"To Dorthonion," Mae said, and we rode west.

* * *

On the fifth day as night fell, we halted to rest but set alight no fire. The horses were set free to wander, but not far, until dawn when we must depart. They did not stray far, however, for they were clever creatures, perhaps even more clever than we are.

"I will go and gather some water," I said, heading away to the brush.

Saerin stood up from the packs we had lifted off the horses. "I will go with you."

The others handed us their canteens with leave and we vanished into the shade as night fell. Saerin looked different than I had remembered him; his silver hair was hardly down any more, always tied in a braid or a bun. His eyes were usually silver also, yet in the twilight they seemed darker, although when they hit the moonlight they glowed silver. Even his stance was slightly different from all the years ago we had trained together in Hísilómë.

"I remember you, if that is what you are asking," I said as we trudged down the undergrowth.

Saerin kept on walking. "Oh, that hardly seemed so."

I snorted. The river gleamed silver in the ebbing light, the hue of his eyes. I plunged the canteen into the water, feeling the coolness of it on my hand. It was cold in the north even in the summer, especially Dorthonion and its realm of rime. Saerin mirrored me until all of the canteens were freshly filled.

He was looking at me as I stood up from the riverbank. "You're different," he told me.

"I would say the same for you," I said, gathering up the canteens.

"Very different, I should say," he returned. "I last saw you in the year fifty-one. It has been three hundred forty-nine years, has it not?"

"I doubted you would have recognized me," I said. "Much has changed."

"Indeed." He sighed. "Dark times are coming."

"So you agree. Why did you sign up for this mission?"

"My sister," he began, hesitating, "was captured and killed by orcs."

My expression was unfeeling, dormant to the statement. "I see."

"I wasn't there when you returned to Hithlum in sixty-nine." He studied my countenance. "But I heard."

"Enjoying the talk of the Noldor, are you?" The voice was bitter, scornful.

"Híthriel, that wasn't what you thought it was. I meant—I just wanted to tell you, for you to understand. For you to know that I understand you."

"I thank you, then," I said, none too stiffly.

"I'm sorry if I offended you," he said. "I just needed you to know."

"It's all right." I resumed walking. "I can understand."

He drew in a deep breath. "Thank you."

Bending down, I gathered up a large pinecone, and digging my fingers into it, picked out a pine nut.

"These should help with our food supply," I said.

"If the squirrels don't get them first." Saerin began snatching up pinecones and throwing them in his pack. "I can barely get over the fact that you are so different."

The corners of my lips tilted upward. "You can't expect me to stay the same for so long, can you?"

"No," he paused. "No, you cannot."

He came over to me and put one hand at my side while the other circled around to my hip. He rested his chin on my shoulder. I tensed. "I signed up for this because I'm a survivor now. A wanderer."

"Never joined Hithlum's army?"

"I did, for a little while," he said, "but I couldn't save my family."

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

His silver eyes met my dark ones. "I wish I could have been there to save you."

"There are many things you cannot save," I told him. "I've learned to be all right with that."

"But you're not, are you?" he said. "No, you are not. I see it in your eyes, your face."

I sidled back, brushing his arms off me. "It's getting dark. We should head back."

"All right," he said, stepping back.

Without speaking, we began to head back to the rest of the company. Some aspen and birch mingled themselves into the pine, and plants of jade filled the ground, yet the gloom filled the night now, and the trees before us seemed menacing and sinister. I stepped into the clearing, dumping the pine nuts before Mae.

"You're welcome," I said.

"I brought home the work for everyone else." Saerin emerged from the trees behind me.

Mae nodded and I sat myself down next to him. "I will take first watch tonight," he said.

A meager supper was eaten and soon I settled to slumber, but I could not see the stars blanketed above us for the cover of the forest veiled them. It was difficult to fall asleep however; and my eyes settled on a particular white flower as I lay on my side. It was much like a star, but six sided, and it grew amongst climbing stems of green plants the hue of lime. The flower itself was very small, a mere sixth of the leaves it was imbedded amidst. I caught Mae glaring at me as I glared at the flower, then at him. I shifted in my position to face him, and felt the energy of the life forces around me pulsate. I flicked through the others and focused on one, reaching and pulling my mind toward it.

 _What are you looking at me for?_ I shot the words down the bond of ósanwë.

 _You are the only one that is unsleeping, if you have not noticed_ , he returned. During my years in Himring, I had taught Mae to communicate through the mind like how Artanis had taught me. Nonetheless he himself could not begin the connection; it seemed to be an inherited ability to do so.

 _Unsleeping?_ I inquired. _I think it is time for you to put an end to making ridiculous words_.

 _No, in fact it has been proven that some humor is beneficial to the mind. I will not put an end to making spectacular words as these. This is a great passion of mine._

I laughed silently. _You are ridiculous yourself._

 _So I've been told. How would you like me to assist you to sleep, princess? Sing you a song, perhaps_ , he mused.

 _Please do not._

 _It's what Finno would do._

 _You aren't Finno_ , I told him curtly.

 _I'm just trying to improve my brother skills. He could be a good role model on this._

I snorted. _Excuse you, you have six little brothers._

He shrugged nonchalantly. _There's always room to improve._

 _All right, be quiet now, I'm going to sleep. Without you singing a lullaby._ I emphasized those last words and turned over to my side, my back facing him.

 _Sweet dreams_ , he sang.

I growled and shut the bond, hearing his laugher echo in the distance. Shifting onto my back, I closed my eyes and reassured myself, relaxing my muscles and calming at last. I did not even know I had fallen asleep until I woke up.


	9. Chapter VIII

CHAPTER VIII

* * *

 _Dorthonion, 438_

We went forth the Pass of Aglon into the land of Himlad and followed the River Aros south, crossing Arossiach, the Fords of Aros, then took the great stone bridge of Esgaliant along the borders of Doriath, passing along Dor Dínen. From there we went north along the River Mineb then through the Pass of Anach and at last arrived in Dorthonion. As we rode down the bridge of Esgaliant, we thought there was a rider galloping fast ahead of us, but we could not see much.

Angaráto and Ambaráto, sons of Arafinwë and brothers to Artanis and Findaráto, ruled most of Dorthonion, and since they were indeed Mae's cousins, we hoped to find welcome here. The information we needed from them would be quite helpful to the objective of our mission although we were bound to head for Angband and the Ered Engrin regardless. Fortunately the guards at the gates were expecting us—thank the Valar someone sent a bird. While the two at the gates kept their post, two others escorted us to the room where we would speak with Ambaráto, for Angaráto was out on a hunting trip. However at the door, Mae paused and turned around.

"I think it would be better if I went in alone," he said carefully. "Ambaráto is wary of strangers."

The rest of us nodded and stood aside as he entered the room. We watched as the doors closed upon him then settled ourselves in a lounge room. I sat motionless on a wooden bench, leaning against the trunk of a tree, my back to the others.

Some time passed in silence. After a while, Saerin was about to come and sit next to me when Morwë spoke. Silently I thanked him for that, but may have quickly regretted it to his words.

"Can you hear what they speak of, Híthriel?" Morwë asked me.

I did not turn from my place. "Why would you ask me?"

"I have heard that you can hear," he said, eyes glinting ominously.

I turned. "I can hear no better than you can, Morwinyon son of Lintitinwë."

"Hm." He studied the tree beside him.

I swiveled back around to my initial position. For a short time I did nothing, yet the moment later I was reaching out with my mind, not to Mae, but to Morwë. I scoured through the threads of energy around the room and focused on his, letting the spark sizzle through the bond, travelling to its holder—

Yet it struck a dead end, thumping against the wall that barricaded it from me.

I gasped in surprise and bewilderment, battering into it a few more times to make certain the claim.

"Is everything all right, Lady Híthriel?" Morwë said from behind.

"Yes," I said. "Everything is fine."

From the energy tightening around the room I could tell that Tindómë was exceptionally confused and Saerin was vastly uncomfortable along with the confusion. I dared not touch the bonds again for now, lest it provoke someone.

Mae returned to us roughly an hour later, and Ambaráto offered hospitality for us that night. We gladly took it, for we were to some extent wearied from our journey. As he personally led us to our rooms, I awakened the bond and sent a pulse of energy down the line to Mae.

 _I need to talk to you_ , I told him.

 _Aren't you now?_ he jested.

 _I would prefer to in actual conversation._

 _Fair enough._

As soon as Ambaráto left, Morwë turned to Mae. "What did he say?"

Mae nodded us to a lounge room. "Why don't you all sit."

Morwë emerged first into the chamber, then Saerin, Tindómë, me, and Mae. Instantly after all were seated, the former began to speak.

"So?" Morwë stared intently at Mae.

"Nothing more than we already know," Mae said. "Nothing much. He says there have been disappearances and reappearances, but nothing much. Aside from the fact that they found a body once, near Ered Gorgoroth, but the next time they looked it was gone."

"And how long was the interval of those two sightings?" Saerin inquired.

"A few hours, they say," Mae told him.

"True, that does tell us nothing much, but you could not have spoke with Lord Ambaráto for such lengthy hours merely of this," Morwë said. "There is more you do not tell us."

"The details are unimportant," Mae said. "Ambaráto told me more than was necessary. Perhaps you may know how he talks."

"All right then." Morwë's gaze flicked to everyone. "Then perhaps we may decide where to go from here?"

"The initial plan," I said. "Angband."

Despite that all who heard this knew of it thus, a chill went around the room—an utterly bitter feeling biting the ivory bones raw.

"So be it," Tindómë said. It was the first instance he had spoken, and some looked upon him in wonder at his words. I, for my part, planted my gaze downwards, as I customarily did.

"All this talk is just to avoid it," he continued, "although we know that that is where we must go in the end, is it not?"

"Yes," I said, looking up. "It is the plan we must formulate—how to get in, how to situate ourselves; not where to go."

"Well there you have it," Saerin said, clasping his hands together.

"Have what?" Morwë was glaring at him.

"The plan," Saerin answered.

"You fool. That is not a plan," I said.

"I confess to that." Saerin threw his arms up in admittance. "I am indeed a fool."

I sighed in exasperation and turned to Mae for assistance, who shook his head wearily.

* * *

Later when we had dispersed, I retreated to my chambers, hoping that Mae would come and find me instead of making me do the work. Indeed he did after I had finished getting myself ready for the night. There came a soft tap on my door right as I walked up to it.

"Waiting for me?" A smile played at his mouth.

"No," I told him. "A mere coincidence."

"Ah," he said, settling down in a chair. I took the seat opposite of him. "So what is it?" he asked.

"How many people know about this?" At the last word I pointed to my head.

"None that I know of," he said. "Aside from the ones you know of."

"Someone else seems to know," I said. "Morwinyon."

"Hm. Interesting."

"Why was he in Himring?" I inquired.

"I don't know," he admitted. "He came just a few years ago, I believe. He may have been there longer, but I did not know of it."

"And his mind was barred from me," I said. "When I reached for the threads of energy I hit rock bottom. It was not that it was not there; it was simply shielded."

"Hm," he said again.

"I don't know who to trust. There are so many of them out there."

"I know." His voice was pained. "I feel it too."

"And I wonder," I began. "When did Saerin come to Himring?"

"I knew him fairly well before," he told me. "He was merely passing by this time, but when I told him of this he knew he had to come."

"I knew him before also," I said slowly, "in Hísilómë. He trained me when Finno wasn't."

"Is that all?" Mae said.

"Yes," I hissed at him. "You insufferable imbecile."

He winked at me. "Wow, that alliteration there."

"What of Tindómë?" I said, still glaring at him.

"What about him?"

"Who is he, where did he come from, why is he here? You have not told me any of this."

"In truth, I do not know much," he said. "It was Morwë that told me he would be a good agent."

"And you trust him?" I asked.

"Well enough," he said. "Enough for this mission."

I pursed my lips. "I suppose."

"Sleep well last night?" he teased.

"Fine enough," I said, rolling my eyes.

"We depart at dawn at the morrow," he said, getting up. "You should be getting to bed."

"Look at you, being such a wonderful big brother."

"I'm not _your_ brother," he interjected. "I'm just practicing."

"Practicing?"

"Do you need me to tuck you into bed?"

"Mae I swear—"

He raised his eyebrows.

"You know what I mean," I said. "Do not."

"Good night, Hith." He sauntered over to the candle and blew it out.

"Damn you," I said, sitting on the bed grumpily. "Get out of my room before I blow you out like you just did to that poor candle."

"Personification," he said, chuckling. "I'm glad I taught you to write well."

I glared daggers at him, jerking my chin toward the door, but he was already sidling out.

* * *

 _Dor Daedeloth, 438_

Thangorodrim glinted in the early hours of the morning, the shadow somehow shimmering at the summit. We approached Angband from the east, going through Lothlann and to Dor Daedeloth. We let the horses return here, for they reared and screamed when they drew nigh. A dense forest thicketed the foot of the mountains, shadowing the stars and sun above. Yet no grasses grew on those grounds, for the light could not reach them over the canopy of the leaves. The greatest part of the trees were quite beautiful, however; they stood tall and straight, with numerous pines coveting the earth, and only some were gnarled and twisted in strange ways in the shade. Nonetheless, as we stepped deeper into the woodland, all light was drowned out. It was midday, and yet the path before us was dark as midnight, and as we pushed on there was little to comfort our hearts of the impending peril lurking about. I did not know how long we had walked—it must have been hours at least—but at last Saerin halted and spoke.

"Are we to carry on without any change? The sun must be setting by now," he said, turning back to face Mae.

"Be patient," Mae told him. "We must wait. There is still much more to go."

Saerin huffed and stalked ahead.

"Stay together," Mae warned, and we hastened along.

There were strange looking ferns now growing amidst the roots of the trees, and they swayed to and fro as if they were in water. Moss blanketed much of the trees and the ground, so that we were forced to tread on them although it unnerved us. Peculiar grasses jutted out the dirt, and although the bottoms were as jade as the moss, the tips of it stuck up straight much like the head of a worm; it was striped with yellow and black yet yellowish green dotted the plant between the lines. Each blade of grass stood alone, with at least six inches between every one.

"Why is the grass moving," I said, "if there is no wind?"

No one answered.

It was another few hours before Morwë stepped ahead, his eyes widening. "There is something ahead," he said.

Saerin squinted his eyes, daring to look forward. "There is; I see it."

"What is it?" Mae said, striding towards him, but Saerin had already begun to run.

"Saerin!" I called.

"It's like a light," Morwë murmured, darting after Saerin.

"Come on, we must go after them," Tindómë said. "They leave us no choice but to do so." With that he too disappeared into the darkness of the trees.

"Damn it," I muttered as Mae and I sprang forward, but suddenly there was a yelp and Mae was lurched down to the ground, a fern curled around his ankle. At once I crouched down as he struggled away from it. The fern swept back up and continued to sway as it unraveled.

"Holy fuck," he gasped. "Did that thing _move_ —" He stopped abruptly and looked at the point that Saerin, Morwë, and Tindómë had disappeared into.

"No matter," I said at last, standing up. "We should probably go."

"I guess that is all we can do," Mae said shakily.

In spite of the fact that inside I was trembling with terror and panic, I refused to look weak or show fear although I kept a hand on the hilt of the dagger at my hip. I breathed in and out slowly three times and lifted my chin, then began to walk forward.

"Let's take this slow," I said faintly, unable to stop my voice was wavering.

"To that I agree." He trudged next to me into the brush.

"I feel like I'm going to sink into the earth," I whispered, the voice too loud in the musty air.

"It's all right," he told me. "That won't happen. We're not walking on water."

"It feels as if I'm walking _in_ water," I muttered. "In a murky pond, more like."

"Don't think about that," he said. "Just don't think about it."

Yet as we walked, my heart thudded in my chest with a wild, frenzied fear, and the trees seemed to spin around me. I grabbed his arm and closed my eyes to rid myself of the image, trying to bring myself back to sanity. Suddenly there was a high pitched ear-splitting scream, yet the scream was not Elda, nor Naugrim, nor Maia, but more like the ringing screech of fingernails against a chalkboard, although it was not that either; it was a sound I had never heard before, unearthly to this world. I cried out and my nails dug into his skin.

"What's going on?" he demanded, and it was then I realized that it was only I that had heard the terrible noise.

"He's watching," I breathed, my eyes still closed. "He knows we're here."

"Are you all right? Can you stand up?"

"Yes," I said, opening my eyes, and to my shock the world around me had abruptly turned grey and bleached, but as I blinked again the color came rushing back to my vision. "Yes, I can."

My head was spinning as I stood up and my eyes went dark for a moment before I could see again. When I looked up, I saw that Mae's hand was on the hilt of his sword.

"What did you hear?" he asked.

"A loud, high-pitched scream," I told him. "But I just knew—" I stopped abruptly, and turned to look at him. "Can you hear them ahead?"

"No," he said. "I do not know where they have gone."

I wanted to turn back, to flee from this forest, but we had to press on. We had to find them. For roughly a quarter of an hour we walked on, then suddenly I stumbled in my steps.

"There is a sudden burst of energy ahead," I said. "It just appeared out of nowhere. I should have been able to sense it at least a league away."

"How many?" he hissed.

"Two," I told him. "Morwë and Saerin."

"What of Tindómë?"

My brows furrowed in concentration. "I cannot sense him."

"Hurry," he said, quite unnecessarily, for we were already hastening to them.

Finally we burst into the clearing to find Morwë and Saerin with their swords drawn, their backs toward us. Our own blades were naked and unsheathed but they were crouched in a fighting stance, as if bracing themselves for something.

I stepped forward. "There's nothing there," I told them, and they jumped, nearly skewering me with their swords. "Where is Tindómë?"

Saerin took a shaky breath but said nothing, and pointed his gaze to something in the brush. Slowly I turned my gaze to it and narrowed my eyes as I beheld the corpse on the ground. Tindómë was lying on his back, his eyes closed and his face bloodless and peaceful in death. There was no trace of struggle on him whatsoever; no blood nor wound was evident. He may have even been sleeping.

"What happened?" Mae demanded, turning to Morwë and Saerin. The latter was looking down, as if terrified.

Morwë drew in a breath. "We were walking and suddenly he just pushed us aside, and I couldn't see anything but a massive dark shape that came swooping down upon us. Then it was gone and he was dead."

I breathed out shakily and turned back to the body, then started as my eyes widened. "It's gone."

"What?" Mae said.

"The body. It's gone."

I dared not go any further, but Morwë slunk forward and felt the grass where the body had been. "It's like it was never here," he murmured.

Then swiftly his eyes shot up, and as I followed his gaze, I saw that there was a little girl mourning amidst the shadows of the trees. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and she wore a tattered, soiled white dress. Yet she was not weeping as a child may be, merely mourning, as if in shock. The ferns around her curled around her arms, her ankles, and she crawled away from it, but they held on viciously.

Saerin began to go to the girl, but I grabbed his arm and held him back. He shook me off, however, and the driven fierceness in his eyes shocked me.

"They're _hurting_ her," he said, and strode forward. I knew the girl reminded him of his little sister. He held aloft his sword and slashed away the ferns, then reached forward to help her to her feet.

"Saerin," I warned.

But he hoisted the girl up to her feet and she crumpled to the ground again, so he lifted her up in his arms. She looked like a mere broken doll in his arms.

"We should get out of here," Saerin said. "I am not staying here for the night."

I turned to Mae helplessly but he turned away from me and nodded to the rest of us. "Come on. Let's go."

There was nothing I could do except for follow Saerin with the girl in his arms as he led the way out of the forest.


	10. Chapter IX

CHAPTER IX

* * *

Lothlann, 438

The girl had not said one word since she had come back with us. We had camped right outside the forest, for we were too weary to go on. It was a few hours after midnight when we stopped to rest, and we only slept for a few hours before the sun rose and we had to go on. That day we stopped earlier, right as the sun was setting in the west, in the country of Lothlann.

"Mae and I will go fetch the firewood," I announced, and pulled Mae away with me into the cover of the forest.

For a while we gathered the wood in silence, and I was almost too tired to tell him my suspicions, but he spoke at last.

"Tell me," he said. "I'm not the one who can—"

Do not say it aloud, I warned. We never know who may be watching.

Fair enough.

I drew in a deep breath. Something's not right with that girl. It's so odd, I cannot reach into her energy force; it seems like there is nothing there. Her mind is barred from me completely. Either someone put it there or—

Abruptly I stopped, however, then spoke again. It's like Morwë.

You think he killed Tindómë? he asked.

I don't know. I can't know anything for sure.

We'll see then.

You want to find out the bad way? I looked up at him from the firewood.

Not like we can do anything else.

Eventually we headed back and built a fire then ate a little. There was little spoken, for all were much too fatigued to spend energy to talk, yet I was not in the mood to sleep so I volunteered to take first watch. We had run out of water so Saerin went to go fetch some.

"No one should venture alone," I said. "I will go with you."

I met Mae's eyes and he inclined his head slightly, knowing that he was going to be alone with Morwë and the girl.

Saerin and I did not speak nearly the entire time, but after we had filled the canteens he stood up and looked straight at me.

"What did Morwë mean," he began, "when he said that he heard you could hear?"

My expression remained blank. "I do not know."

"You told him that you can hear no better than he could," he said. "That is answer enough."

"Then there is no need to ask."

"But I have no definite answer," he pressed.

I sighed. "These matters are not for your ears to hear, Saerin."

He watched me closely. "Are they not?"

"No, they aren't," I said. "Sometimes I think you need to get your reeking head out of other people's business."

"My head reeks?" He stepped closer. "Of what?"

"Your head reeks of shit," I said, annoyed. "It's time you wake up to the truth."

He didn't seem to know what I was talking about, and I didn't feel like pressing on, so I turned away to glance at the hills yonder. He didn't answer, however, which I was content with, yet the sky was darkening and I preferred to return to the group as soon as possible. Thus I turned around, but the clearing was empty. The canteens lay in a mess upon the ground and Saerin was nowhere to be seen.

I called his name, keeping my voice low but heard enough if he was near. There was no response. I left the canteens on the ground and wandered into the cover of the forest, my hand on the hilt of my dagger. A dark mist drifted amongst the boles of the trees, shadowing much of what was ahead of me.

"Saerin?" I whispered again. I reached out to the threads of energy pulsing around me, brushing away from the flora and concentrating on finding Saerin. I could feel his life force throbbing somewhere—somewhere close. Although it may not necessarily have been a wonderful idea, I closed my eyes and reached my hand out to where I felt it, and let my feet carry me forward.

Suddenly I gasped and my eyes flew open. I looked to see my hand fall from reaching into the air and followed its movement to the ground, where Saerin was lying on his back in the grass. His eyes were closed and there was a bloody gash on his cheek. I expanded the scope of my mind and detected nothing else around. Whoever had done it had already gone. I felt a tensing anxiety as I thought about Mae and if the attacker had gone in that direction as I bent down next to him. But when I felt for Mae I found that he was still there and safe.

Then as I looked, I saw that something large and clawed had tore a wound from his shoulder to his thigh, and a pool of blood surrounded him. I put my hands on either side of his head and brushed into his mind, softly but insistently.

Echuio, I willed. His mind was already slipping away into the darkness, but I pushed harder, delving deeper. Echuio—

He jolted awake, his breath coming in quick short gasps as he looked up at me, terrified. "Híthriel—" he murmured, his voice a rasp.

"Who did this?" My voice was stern and demanding.

"I couldn't—I couldn't see who it was. . ." He spasmed and blood dribbled out of his mouth.

"I'm going to need you to hold still, all right?" I said, pressing my hands on either side of his head again. "Don't panic. Just lie still."

I breathed in shakily and closed my eyes, delving into his mind, seeking the memory of the encounter. I looked through his eyes and saw myself turn away, then something suddenly cut off his wind and hoist him into the air. Wincing as I felt but a fraction of the pain, I espied the attacker: a dark shadow, massive and wingèd. I wrenched myself away from his mind and came back to the present, seeing his astonished expression amidst the pain.

"You're—you're. . ." he stumbled over the words.

"Hush. Don't talk," I told him, lifting him up. "Can you walk?"

"Maybe a little," he said, grimacing.

"Let's get you back," I said, supporting his weight.

"This is the secret you've kept from me?" he rasped as we struggled along.

"It's complicated, and I didn't know about it when I knew you," I said, keeping my gaze forward.

"When. . .when—"

"As I have said, it is none of your business. Save your strength. You've lost too much blood."

Almost coincidentally, he fell to his knees, clenching his teeth in pain, dragging me down with him. I surveyed the wound for a moment, then bit my tongue.

"Lie down," I told him. "Just lie down and relax as much as you can."

He complied and I took in another breath, knowing that he would die if I did not do this. I called forth the energy within me and drew it from my body; it came in the form of a scarlet mist and drifted around me. Gathering the scarlet mist into an orb of energy in my hands, I saw Saerin's expression taken aback lit from the glow it radiated in the darkness of the night.

Envinyata, I murmured as the scarlet mist dissipated into the wound. Ortanë, cálë, ar envinyata. Lav estel ortanë ata; lav i cálë ortanë ata.

The scarlet vanished and he relaxed, his head lolling back.

"Now you relax," I huffed. "Come on. We must get back to them."

Mae found us before we had even reached the camp; we had been gone long. He carried Saerin back and Morwë tended to him. I exchanged a dark look with Mae upon our return, for we knew these attacks were no coincidence. Eventually we settled down and I began to take my first watch.

* * *

The little girl was resting with her back on the tree, her eyes wide as she stared at me. I called her Erédinen, the silent one, for she had said no word since she had come with us out of Dor Daedeloth. We knew nothing of her—who she was, where she had come from, why she had been there; I could not reach into her mind whatsoever, as I had told Mae. Her eyes somehow glinted in the darkness of the night as she looked at me, her expression calm even after the gruesome sight of Saerin's wounds.

"Are you hungry?" I asked the girl.

She shook her head, the movement small.

"Thirsty?" I held up a canteen and she reached for it eagerly. Unscrewing it, she looked at the canteen and turned it upside down. It was empty. "Oh," I said, hurrying over to retrieve it. "I'll have to fetch some more at the river."

I got up and began to head away but when I turned I saw that she was following me. "Wait here, Erédinen," I told her. "I'll be back soon." But she seemed to not understand as she grasped my hand and looked up at me, expectant.

"All right then," I said. "Let us go."

She walked with even pace and never sped ahead nor slowed behind. I was still cautious to the peril lurking in the night, but I felt no other pulsing energy near. When we reached the river, she knelt down by the bank and cupped her hands in the water. I watched the girl as she put her lips to the water and drank then plunged the empty canteen into the river, filling it up to the rim.

I glanced up to the clouded sky then, and tried to reach out into her energy again. I could feel it, throbbing and breathing as any other, but the mind itself was still completely barred from me, as if it was dead and merely an illusion. I had been focusing my energy on that so much I did not notice that she was looking at me. Slowly I turned my gaze away from the darkness of the trees and looked at the girl.

She cocked her head to one side. "Stop that," she said.

I was taken aback by the words—the existence of it itself, what she meant by it. "You. . .you can feel it?" They were most definitely the wrong words to say.

The girl took both my hands in hers and turned the palms up. "You feel," she told me.

The words seemed to echo in my head ominously, over and over again, except instead of fading away it was growing louder. I shook my head furiously to be rid of the sound and tried to wrench myself away from her hands but her grip was iron. What is she, I thought, again and again, my mind unable to form true thoughts. Something was around me, something breathing, beating—

I looked at those child's hands curled around my wrist, harmless yet deadly. The fingers grew longer and slender, with jagged iron nails protruding out of the ends, and the entire form began to shift. Brown eyes became black and flecked with scarlet as they gazed at me, ruthless and cruel and massive dark wings unfolded from her back, towering over me light the night herself. Iron fetters formed around my wrists where her fingers had been, and suddenly all of the energy vanished into nothing. The air was still.

"Thuringwethil," I drawled.


	11. Chapter X

CHAPTER X

* * *

Thuringwethil launched herself up, and her wings spread like a cloud of darkness, then suddenly I had fallen on my side, the side of my face pressed to a stone, my hands chained behind my back. Her iron nails clinked upon the irons on my wrists as she brushed her fingers upon them. "Like them?" she said, her voice predatory and beautiful like a honed knife. "They stifle the power crackling within your blood."

"Oh, that's amusing," I said, frowning at them. "And quite inconvenient. I should have known."

Her claws were at my throat, stroking so gently against the bare skin. "Yes."

"You killed Tindómë."

"No," she told me. "He killed himself."

My expression betrayed nothing. "What do you mean."

"He asked me to kill him, then kill him again." Thuringwethil glanced at something in the shadows, but she then turned her face gracefully to face me. "He doesn't want to come to you. He wants you to go to him."

"How." The voice was wary. "He's dead; I saw him."

She laughed, a shrill sound that echoed and hissed in the mist. "Indeed."

"Then how—" Abruptly I stopped, realization flooding into my face. "You want me to—" I shook my head furiously. "I swore I would never go into that dimension again."

"The dimension of the dead? The dimension of Mandos?" She licked her lips. "So indeed you know of it. My suspicious do not err. . ."

"I nearly went mad. Even if I agreed to, you have bound these fetters around my wrists. I can see nothing."

"I can help you," she whispered, the voice almost kind. "It's all right. No one else is here."

"No," I said defiantly. "No. I refuse."

"I'm not asking you to," she told me, and there was a sudden chill in my body. Mist billowed like a blanket of silver, the last I would see. . .and all turned to grey.

* * *

I gasped, my breath sounding too loud in my ears; I could hear nothing very clearly, for it felt as if I was in water and my ears were clogged. The land in front of me was the same—the river, the forest, the moon—but it was all covered with a silvery mist, as if the very air I breathed was composed of something different, sinister.

The only sound that came clear to my ears was Thuringwethil's laugh. I turned to face her. "This is no place for a mortal," I told her.

"Like you?" She was still laughing, the sound like bells. "Are you one, though?"

It was then I saw Tindómë emerging out of the mist. He looked chiefly the same as he did in life, but his expression was not calm as it had been; it was fierce and pained with all the years, long and numberless, it contained. His fingers reached out to touch me but I flinched back, for a piercing ring seared as the two dimensions fused.

"Don't," I said, stepping back, but it was already too late. I screamed as the vicious fire burned within me and the crackling of the flaming whip grew louder. Then it vanished, and I was left gasping for air.

I backed away, clutching my face. "Who are you?"

"Tindómë, son of Tingilinde," he said. "Once thrall of Angband."

"And still is," Thuringwethil drawled.

I was shaking my head, drawing back as he stepped forward. "Why?"

"They promised me release from Eä," he said, the voice emotionless. "If I complied."

"That is impossible," I said. "To do that you would have to destroy the fëa entirely."

"The Lord Morgoth knows how," Tindómë told me. "And he will do it. Once I bring you and the redhead back to him." He turned away slightly. "And you killed my father."

"Tingilinde?" I said quietly, my voice wavering. "You're right. I did fail him."

Tindómë said nothing.

I turned to Thuringwethil. "Why did you not do it in Dor Daedeloth? Why not there?"

She clicked her tongue and jerked her chin to him. "This one here seems to have. . .resisted."

My eyes lifted to him. "Tindómë, please. Don't do this."

Thuringwethil glanced at something behind me. "Oh, we seem to have a guest," she said, licking her lips again. "Come along." Her iron nails flicked out and my head seemed to be splitting in two as the dimensions blurred again, the grey mist dissipating into howling wind—

Then everything quieted, the irons fettered tightly on my wrists deafening in the silence, and I saw Mae standing before me in the starless night.

"Thuringwethil," he said, inclining his head. "What is your business here?"

She laughed then, and the claws pressed against my neck drew blood, the scarlet drops rolling onto the ground like dew in the morning. "So unflustered," she said, sighing. "You've changed so much, dear Maitimo. Not how I remember you." She swept a wisp of hair away from my face. "I suppose you've come for this one?"

"I suppose," he said, indifferent. Morwë and Saerin were nowhere to be seen.

"Fool," she accused. She traced her claws along my body, a thin line of blood following the trail and she never once looked at Mae. I refused to show fear, to show pain, and clenched my jaw, not trusting myself to speak. I tried to catch his gaze, but he would not meet my eyes. "I rather miss those times I had with you in Angband," she said to him. "Lord Mairon misses you too. Likewise, he would like to have those times again."

"Why." His face was frozen with rage.

"Tindómë," she called, and again I felt the screaming ring in my ears. Then suddenly Tindómë stepped forth from the dimension of Mandos, a silver spectre glistening in the moonlight. If Mae was taken aback, he did not show it. His countenance remained enigmatic and unfathomable and if anything, he lifted his chin higher as Thuringwethil stood and went to him. Tindómë replaced her holding me to the ground; the jagged rock cutting into my cheek was decorated by scarlet like polished ornaments atop the fireplace and I could barely see what was happening before me.

Thuringwethil examined Maedhros' face as he stood, rigid and unrelenting. "Why?" she repeated. "Why? Is that really a question? You are one of the only ones that could unite all of Beleriand under one banner, or at least much of it. The Sindar are a different matter. Ñolofinwë is next on the list, of course, then Findekáno, and whoever is next in line. Better for Lord Mairon to have you as his personal fuckboy than ruining his master's plans." She leaned forward and her waist long, glossy, raven-dark hair brushed against his cheek as she whispered in his ear. "Don't you think, Maitimo?"

Mae pressed his lips together. I crushed my eyes shut for a moment, knowing that I had to get out before someone did something ridiculous. I could feel Tindómë's cold, dead hands freezing my bare skin, and although the pain was less now, the two dimensions being melded together was unnatural, yet it gave me an entrance to the other side. The irons felt more bitter than ever as I pushed—into the other dimension.

Tindómë seemed to be quite startled and confused as, in the dimension of the living, my head lolled back and the energy crackling there died; but he could not return to the dimension of Mandos, not without the assistance of Thuringwethil, and she was quite occupied at the moment and had not bidden him to speak. I exhaled, and knowing that probably no one would bother me while I picked the lock, I summoned a dash of energy from myself, for there was nothing I could draw from in the lands of the dead, and with a faint click, the shackles fell. I kept still however, as I drew myself into Tindómë's mind, being sure he would do nothing when I whispered into his mind.

You're not sure you want to do this, I said to him.

I am, he returned. I have been waiting for it for many long years.

And why would you hurt your friends in the process? Does your supposed freedom override that also?

I don't know you. I never knew you. I barely ever spoke a word to you. To any of you.

Are we strangers just the same as Morgoth? Are we no more to you than they are to you? Even then, why would you side with them, Tindómë? The ones that created your pain. Your disquiet.

They can give me what I need, he told me. There is no other way.

You can return to Valinor.

Why would they let me, now that I've done this?

I took a deep breath. I can offer you something.

What is that?

I can do it. Give your mind release from Eä. Help us get away, and I will do it for you.

He was silent.

I'm running out of time. Help us or thwart us. Now is your moment. Make your choice, Tindómë.

I slipped out of his mind and my eyes flicked open. Thuringwethil had her back to me but Mae saw as slowly, I slid a dagger into my hand. Tindómë did nothing. When I next looked at him, it seemed as if he had never seen me at all, and was wholly enthralled by whatever words came out of Thuringwethil's mouth. I bared my teeth and with all the strength I could muster, thrust the dagger at her back. In an instant I was on my feet as I watched it fly, yet something streaking silver in the shadows caught my eye.

There was a clash and a ring—then the dagger thudded to the ground along with a black arrow that went spinning in another direction.

Orcs emerged from the trees all around us, the black of their blades like obsidian stone in the dead of the night. Tindómë rose from the ground as Thuringwethil turned to me slowly, a bloodthirsty smile upon her scarlet lips. Then at last the archer emerged from the shade.

"Mirnetyo?" The name escaped from my lips, a lost wind in the valley. His violet eyes were shadowed by the darkness even as he let his hood fall and his dark hair tumble down. The orcs had the points of their spears pointed at us, gradually drawing closer by every moment we tarried. Mirnetyo stepped forward, his cerulean cloak rippling a little in the slight wind. Slowly, he reached out a hand, and I could feel the tingle of energy on his fingers as they brushed against my face.

"I also rather miss those times with you; don't you, Híthriel?" he said softly.

I lashed out, whipping out my daggers, but he spiraled out of the way. I hissed, stepping forward, and he grinned, but suddenly there was a whistle and a silver arrow was lodged clean through his shoulder. He gasped and staggered back as Morwë emerged out of the mist.

"Couldn't parry that one, could you?" Morwë said, the next arrow aimed at his head.

Between choking gasps, Mirnetyo curved a smile onto his lips. "You missed."

Morwë let the arrow fly.

But too late I felt the jolt and the bending fold in the dimensions—Mirnetyo vanished and the arrow plunged into Thuringwethil's chest.

The others charged almost instantaneously, savage and brutal without any command. The sword rang as Mae unsheathed it from the scabbard at his back and artfully twisted it in his hand, killing the first line of orcs that attacked. Morwë sprang down from upon the rock, going for Thuringwethil, who broke the shaft and pulled it out, hissing. I slashed my dagger into the face of an orc, being sure to stay close to Mae and Morwë, but there were so many.

They swarmed around us like ants to food or bees to their hives, a tempest of darkness in the nightfall; and we were only embers in a hill of dead torches, the ashes of the ones long perished blowing over the light in the stormy gale. Thrice I was thrust to the ground, and now I could see neither Mae nor Morwë in the havoc. Once I caught a glimpse of Tindómë slashing his way through the orcs, and sometimes I caught the fiery glow of Mae's hair or their voices calling out in the distance. Without knowing they were here, without feeling their energy, without knowing that they needed me, I would have given up.

Nonetheless this time they had a hold of me, and even as I struggled I could not get out. I felt spasms in the energy crackling from Morwë, and some from Mae. Suddenly there was a rush of wind as Thuringwethil sprang into the air, her wings spread wide like a dark cloud. Some orcs fell to the ground, along with Morwë, who was buried under their bodies.

It is just like before, I thought. Perhaps I should have known better.

Thuringwethil brandished her long whip, the silver barbs of it hissing as she descended, yet too swiftly she did, and I did not realize what she really meant to do and where she was going. Morwë knew before I and struggled to rise, but Thuringwethil flung the whip down upon him, dropping it entirely and going for her prey. Iron nails outstretched, she curved her wings down into a plummet and at last I knew.

I screamed as Thuringwethil's silver claws went clean through Mae's chest.

For a moment the air seemed to be still although I could feel the pounding energy all around me—and one that sputtered and faltered. Then something terrible, unearthly, hideous came exploding from me like a dark, scarlet fire, like a curse, like a scream. The power that had long remained dormant, that had long been hidden in my veins erupted forth.

And there was nothing that could stop it. They begged for mercy, for a swift, clean death, some for life. Their faces upturned in horror and pain. One of them could have been my mother. Maybe two. Maybe none of them were at fault. Yet none of that mattered. I let the power stream forth freely, uncontrollably; I had held it in for too long.

At last I let the curse fall. The scarlet fire sunk into the earth, and fifty orcs dropped dead.

I approached Thuringwethil and Mirnetyo, who lay sprawled on the ground. My wings shadowed them both. "Get out," I said. "Get out, before I kill you all."

They were gone by the next moment.

I did not turn to Tindómë and Morwë and Mae, my eyes, still ebony and unseeing, looked into the north to Dor Daedeloth. I could feel a faint throbbing in Mae's energy, and saw his eyes flutter.

"Híthriel?" Morwë said quietly, cautious, uncertain.

All strength left me and I vanished into darkness.


	12. Chapter XI

CHAPTER XI

* * *

 _Thargelion, 438_

When I awoke, I still barely felt; there was only a hollow throbbing in my bones. Everything was all so quiet. I opened my eyes and did not shift, merely assessing my surroundings. The bed I was lying in was comfortable enough, but the room was alien. The walls were painted a hue of light grey and the room was decorated in a simple Noldorin style, fashioned like the halls of Valinor. A clear glass vase on the mantlepiece held a bouquet of white flowers and next to it was a white taper amongst a stack of books. The grey curtains drifted a little in the light breeze, sweep the dust on the desk, also the tone of white. There were two doorways to other chambers and one door that led out of the room.

Then my eyes travelled to Moryo, who was sitting on a chair on the right side of the bed. In one measured, smooth motion, I brushed the blankets off of me and stood up before him. He seemed to be unnerved and quite taken aback, for he sprang on his feet immediately and reached out a hand, but decided not to and pulled back.

"Where am I, Moryo?" I asked him, gazing around the room.

He seemed to have trouble forming the words, disturbed by my cool demeanor. "Thargelion," he said, stammering a little. "You can see Lake Helevorn just out your window over there."

I drifted over to the curtains and slid them open. Soft rays of sunlight shone onto my face, and I held my hand out, feeling the sensation of the warmth upon my skin, the energy of it flowing into the chamber.

I did not turn. "Where is Nelyo?"

"He's all right," he reassured me. "He is healing. So are the rest of them."

Slowly, I turned around and studied Moryo, but said nothing.

"Híthriel," he said. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I am," I told him. "Why would I not be?"

"You've been out for three days," he said. "This is the fourth."

My brows furrowed, and I paused, gazing out of the window again at Lake Helevorn and Mount Rerir. Helevorn's waters were dark and deep, an elegant shade of midnight blue, and at dawn the mountain would glow sapphire in the light.

"Can you take me to him?" I asked.

"Yes," Moryo said, "but not until you dress and bathe yourself. The look of you is enough to give him an infection."

I looked down. My clothes were weathered and stained with blood, and grime was stuck under my nails. "I thought they would have dressed me," I said.

"We. . .couldn't." He chewed on his lip.

"What do you mean?"

"You were always either searing hot or bitterly cold," he told me. "No one could touch you."

I lifted my eyes to study his expression, then reached out my hand slowly to touch his arm. He flinched, but did not recoil. "See?" I said softly. "I'm all right now."

He looked up from my hand and pulled away. "Well I'm glad they didn't clad you in a nightgown," he said, heading out of the door. "Then I would have mistaken you for Irissë."

I smiled. "Thank you for giving us hospitality here in Thargelion."

He was confused. "Of course. Why wouldn't I? And Nelyo's my brother, in case you've forgotten, so do treat him properly."

I dipped my head. "I shall, Lord Caranthir."

"Oh, stop it with the courtesies," he said. "I will return in thirty minutes, or else Manwë will come and personally slap your ass."

"I'm sure of that."

Moryo stuck his tongue out at me as if he were a child, then disappeared in the corridor. I turned back and suddenly felt a cold tug in my mind, coming from the dimension of Mandos. Closing my eyes, I reached out. When I breathed out and my eyes opened, Tindómë stood in front of me, his spectral form almost bringing color in the light of Vása.

"You did promise me," he said quietly.

I showed neither agreement nor disapproval as I closed my eyes again and breathed in his cold energy, the embers of the fëa already fading away. I knew I could not truly give him what he asked for, but there was a way it would be similar to it. I could hear him sigh as I wiped him of his memories, then shifted into the dimension where he could find Estë, and perhaps find rest in the gardens of Lórien.

When I again opened my eyes, Tindómë was gone.

* * *

When Moryo finally showed up, he was thirty minutes late, quite ironically, needless to be stated. He had not changed into some exquisite raiment like he usually did every hour (really, I am joking), but his garments and hair were tousled. Seeming to realize this as he came down the corridor, he ran his fingers through his hair and blinked at me confusedly.

"You're late," I told him.

"That's not a thing in my country," he said. "His chambers are next to mine. Come along."

"One day I'm going to chop off your dick and feed it to Telvo."

He glanced lazily around. "He won't fall for it."

"High standards for your little brothers indeed," I commented.

"Nelyo will hear of this."

" _That_ is an insult."

He laughed once; a single exclamation of _ha_. "Go fuck yourself."

"Was it you who taught all the little children how to cuss?" I said, a smile playing at my lips.

"I recall teaching _you_ ," he grumbled. "All right now, shut up, we're nearing."

I complied, quite fortunately, as Moryo headed silently to the door. His hand had lifted to knock but suddenly I put a hand on his shoulder, bidding him to halt. He looked at me slowly as I extended the thread of energy to his mind, linking them together using sanwe-latya.

 _Is he. . .doing better?_ I asked quietly.

Moryo inclined his head a little. _Yes._

I drew an unsteady breath and looked down. He turned back, hesitated, then gave a quiet knock. It was a while before the door opened and Telvo's face emerged from the shadows. He looked at me for a moment, then brushed past Moryo and I and into the corridor. Moryo watched him go then held open the door and gestured for me to go in. I clenched my jaw, refusing to show neither fear nor weakness, and strode into the chamber.

He was lying asleep on the bed, his crimson hair unkempt all around his head like a broken fan. Even in slumber, his brow was furrowed with pain and his eyes were fluttering, as if he were sucked in a nightmare. I didn't know what to do, what I should be doing, but I slipped my hand in his and gave a faint squeeze, as though that might ease him in his sleep. For long I stared at his face—the scar stretching from his brow to his left cheek that had paled and grown hale, the thick auburn lashes disquieted in the terrors of the nightmare, and the freckles that speckled his face like a constellation of stars. Once I thought he opened his eyes unseeing and befuddled, but it must have been nothing more than an illusion. My mind plays tricks on me sometimes.

I turned to Moryo, unjustifiably angry. _You said he was getting better_.

Even Moryo was taken aback my my sudden outburst. _It took two days for my riders to find you. By that time he had already gotten an infection._

Specks of scarlet and gold showed themselves forth in the irises of my eyes, a warning of my rage. _Damn you and your riders. Damn Thuringwethil. Damn fucking Sauron and damn Morgoth. Damn you all._

The room seemed to tremble and the vase rattled on the table. Moryo lowered his eyes and gave no reply, something very unusual for him to do.

My gaze was thunderous as I turned back to Mae. _When was the last time you changed his dressing?_

 _It should be time now_. Moryo looked nervously back to the door, his dark hair veiling his expression. _I believe Telvo just went for the water._

I bent down and gently peeled away the old bandages, stiff with blood. The wound was dark and red streaked from it like spiderwebs of scarlet. I felt his brow, feverish and flushed, then turned to Moryo.

 _Do not stop me from what I am about to do_ , I told him.

 _What are you about to do?_

I rolled up my sleeves. _Do you mind if those flowers over there die?_

Moryo was appalled. _What?_

 _Just stay back._

Reaching into the heart of the energy throbbing within my own fëa, I inhaled slowly, breathing the feeling of it in. The world around me seemed to grow distant and grey as the light of the energy withdrew from me. The flowers on the table wilted as I drew their energy into the air.

The orbs of light danced around the chamber for a moment like countless little fireflies streaming in the wind, and it was in this moment that Telvo came into the room and beheld this peculiar sight. Moryo held him back as he stepped forward, a bucket of water in his hand. The energy around me seemed to sigh as I brought the lights together so that they circled around Mae and sunk into his hröa.

The lights were gone now, and I turned to find Moryo and Telvo looking upon me in astonishment. It was then that I felt a sudden fatigue; my eyes glazed over and I stumbled backwards, nearly crashing into the table. Moryo hurried forward and caught me before I fell, but gasped when he touched my skin; it was icy cold. Hastily he lowered me onto the cushioned chair then stepped back, rubbing his hands. I collapsed into it, fighting for breath. Telvo pursed his lips and snatched a clean gauze out of his pocket and strode over to Mae, whose chest was now rising and falling evenly.

"You all right?" Moryo asked.

"Mm, yes. . ." My voice was faint. "Just going to take a nap, I think. . ."

"Not in here," Telvo barked, but my mind was already slipping away.

* * *

Telvo was staring crossly into nothing when my eyes fluttered open the next morning. Apparently none of them wanted to move me, so they just left me hanging upon the couch. How impolite it seemed to be, however it appeared that someone had moved the entire couch across the room, possibly Moryo at the command of Telvo. Somehow, Telvo noticed I was awake the moment I had opened my eyes and jerked his chin at me.

"You made things very inconvenient," he said, irked.

"You're welcome," I muttered. "Have you any water?"

He marched over to the bucket of water at the foot of Mae's bed and dunked a cup in it. It was still dripping and slippery when he handed it to me.

My fingers were trembling when I reached for it. "Thank. . .you." But the cup nearly slipped out of my hands, for they were still too weak.

Telvo cursed as he caught it before it spilled. "You're still so damn cold," he said, tipping the water into my mouth.

"Did Moryo teach you too?" I glanced up at him when I had finished drinking.

"No," he said stubbornly, setting the cup on the table. "I taught myself."

"Did he wake up?" I asked, inclining my head to Mae, still asleep.

"Yes," Telvo said, pretending to be busy with something. "And his fever has lowered." He paused. "And he wondered why you looked half-dead on the couch." He paused again, as if considering whether or not to tell me. "Then he asked if you noticed that he had freckles."

I chuckled. "What the fuck."

"That's what I said." Telvo crossed his arms. Even hardly being able to feel the energy pulsating around the room with all the energy I had just lost, I knew he was obviously uncomfortable and skittish. "Then he fell back asleep, but not after stealing my crackers."

Internally I was dying of laughter but I was sure Telvo wouldn't enjoy it if I did. I leaned my head back, feeling a little dizzy. "That sounds exciting. Do you have more crackers I can steal?"

"Regrettably, I ate them all," came a faint voice from behind Telvo.

Unfortunately I could not see myself in third person as I comically scrambled to get up and fell on my face like a fool. Telvo, on the other hand, rushed over to his second favorite brother with complete use of his legs. Now, this is what I would call inconvenient. I braced myself on the bedframe and dragged myself over, an idiotic smile on my face.

"Oh my Valar, what the hell happened to you?" Mae said, his voice a whisper. His eyes were only half-open but someone had brushed his hair so it shone in the morning light.

"She kind of killed herself," Telvo said nonchalantly.

"Accurate enough," I said, seating myself on the bed, my head spinning.

"Twice," Telvo added.

Moryo burst into the chamber. "Nelyo, you're alive!"

"Moryo!" Mae was smiling fondly at his brothers, but he still seemed so weak. "You've come at the perfect time. May you so kindly help me sit up?"

They did, without much trouble. He looked even better than I was at the moment, probably. By the moment I was growing more hungry than I should be, and I had to excuse myself.

"I apologize, dear lords," I said, clasping my hands together. "I am in need of some sustenance. I shall return at some later time."

Somehow I got myself out of the chamber and closed the door behind me, only to find Saerin standing in the corridor, expectant.

"Greetings, Lady Híthriel," he said, dipping his head.

"Greetings," I replied. "You look well."

"Thanks to you," Saerin said. "But you do not."

"You had to point that out," I complained.

"I prepared some food for you in your chambers." He shrugged. "I thought you would be hungry."

"That's nice of you," I said. "Thank you."

He walked me back to my chambers and sat in front of me as I downed the food ravenously. When I was about finished, I looked up.

"Can you keep a secret?" I asked, as if we were still little children.

"Of course I can," he said, folding his hands together.

I dipped my head. "Thank you."

The rest of my meal was finished in silence until he finally spoke again.

"This just brings me back to the time I thought you were my age but you were actually thirteen," Saerin said. "Now I find the reason behind it. Not sure if this is more uncomfortable or that."

"You know, I don't really know the reason myself," I said.

"Oh?" Saerin poured himself a cup of tea.

"Yes," I said, refusing to elaborate.

"Hm." He sipped at the tea.

All I really can remember from that was that it was very uncomfortable.

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Fëa._ (Q) Spirit, soul.

 _Hröa._ (Q) Physical body.

 _Vása._ (Q) Noldorin name for _Anor_ , the sun.


	13. Chapter XII

CHAPTER XII

* * *

It was a few days later when I came across Moryo at Mae's door, who peered at me curiously before walking past.

"He's at the balcony," Moryo called as he retreated into the corridor.

The sun was setting in the west, painting brilliant hues of red and gold on the sky, as I emerged onto the balcony. The colors were so warm, so comforting—the cool grey of the clouds around the mountains and the gold and red and pink that peeked through them like a blessing, and the lake was so clear we could see all of this in the reflection. Mae was sitting on the bench, gazing at the view, and I headed over to sit next to him.

"It's so beautiful, isn't it?" he murmured.

"Yes." It was indeed; I could hardly draw my eyes from the sight.

"Reminds me of all the things so kind and fair in this world," he said.

I smiled. "Funny for you to think of that after all that has happened."

"Not really though, if you really think about it. Look there, at how the rays of sun shine out from beneath the clouds."

"I see it," I breathed, resting my head on his shoulder.

"Were you afraid?" he asked. "That night, in the vale?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't think I knew anything at all then, felt anything at all. It was you that broke me out of it."

"I was," he told me. "I was so afraid that it was going to happen all over again, except this time there would be no way out. There would be no flight this time."

I said nothing. A light breeze swept across my face, making the trees whisper.

"Your hands are cold," he said.

"They're better than they were a few days ago, at least," I said. "I nearly turned Moryo to ice the other day."

"That makes me wonder if you could have given him frostbite just from your touch." He pushed me gently off his shoulder and turned to me. "My, you're wearing a dress. How ladylike."

It was true; I was clad in a simple sleeveless dress of olive green but hidden beneath the belt was a dagger, just for safety precautions. "I figured it would be more fitting."

"It looks nice on you," he told me.

I glanced at him. "I did notice you had freckles, and many years ago."

"Spectacular to know," he said, "but why on Arda would Telvo tell you that? I was high on willow bark and kratom and a grand assortment of herbs like that."

"Telvo does things like that. When I was little, I didn't how what freckles were, so I thought it was dirt."

"Oh, that's an insult. It means you considered me dustful as a child," he said.

"Why is that still a thing," I said blatantly.

"I don't see why not." He began to undo my braid. "I like it better down. You look younger. Less. . .burdened."

I helped him undo my hair until it tumbled down upon my shoulders and my back, as he was having a bit of trouble with his one hand. He curved his arm around my waist and although I did not reject the touch I stiffened a little, unused to such gentleness. I closed my eyes for a moment, shaking away the memories of more bitter days, breathing in his scent, then lifted my eyes to find his hazel ones searching for me. I leaned closer into him; it made me feel safe, sheltered, and warm, even in the bitter coldness of my body. I could see myself reflected in the irises of his eyes, bathed in the ebbing light seeping from beneath the clouds retreating over the mountain, and realized that I had never noticed that his irises were flecked with gold. As he turned to the light, the blend of colors in his eyes shifted from grey to the green of jade, although there were still a tint of grey in it, and they seemed to glow like starlight.

"You're so slow at this," I whispered, and kissed him.

We were still wrapped tightly around each other when Moryo came sauntering onto the balcony. His eyes widened and I lowered my hands, but did not break away. My face had probably turned a comedic shade of red while Mae barely paid him any heed, his hands still entwined in my hair.

"Don't think I didn't see you making out with Haleth." Mae waved Moryo away as the latter's face reddened. I uncomfortably noted that the bodice of my dress was hanging somewhat open, and couldn't be sure whether it was fortunate or unfortunate that Moryo's mouth could form no words as he awkwardly slunk back inside.

"I really hate it when that happens," Mae said, and I laughed.

"I haven't. . .I haven't wanted this for so long," I whispered, tracing my lips over the scar on his face that had paled and grown hale.

"Me neither," he murmured as his nose prodded the strap of my dress.

"I thought you liked this dress," I teased, a mischievous look sparkling in my eyes.

"It looks so nice I want to steal it right off you," he said, his expression mirroring mine.

I kicked the door open and we fell inside. "Kinky," I said, and let the burdened cloak of fear, unease, and distress I had been holding back for countless years fall from my shoulders.

* * *

Himring, 439

The scintillating stars cast overhead amongst the dark blanket of night was like a glittering cave covered with gems of silver and gold. I was lying on my back atop the grasslands of the March a little south of Himring, and Mae lay beside me on my right. The grasses in the meadow were so long and beautiful, uncut, untrampled; they were more soothing the lie in them than my own bed. It was then that slightly, I felt the energy around us shift and I turned my head to look at him.

"What happened to Tindómë?" he murmured, the question a mere rustle of a solitary leaf in the wide, perilous wood.

So I told him—how I had let his memories rest dormant and sent him to Estë and the gardens of Lórien.

"But I don't know if I did the right thing," I said. "I could not give him what he truly desired yet I did not even tell him. I thought it would be better that way, but now I do not know."

"It's all right," he told me. "It has already passed, and there is nothing you can do now. Tindómë may find peace in time, and when he does he will be grateful."

I sighed. "That I do hope."

"And who do you know Saerin as?" he said.

I barked a sharp laugh. "I told you, in Hísilómë. He trained me when Finno didn't. But if you want to know more—" I leaned over. "He was my first ellon. When I was a imbecilic youngling."

"So before you met me," Mae said, a goading smile on his lips.

I huffed. "I always knew you existed. Well, it was kind of odd because I looked like I was about thirty because of my odd mutation." I called it a mutation just to give it a name.

"Did Finno know?" he teased.

I sputtered. "Um, yes."

He laughed then, yet then I felt the tension of energy around him circling, changing, reluctant to reveal—

"You want to know who Mirnetyo is, don't you?" I muttered into the darkness.

He was silent for a moment. "I think I know well enough."

I spoke anyway. "Son of Thuringwethil," I said. "He was only a young boy, barely into his manhood, when I was in Angband." The words sounded so austere, steely, unfeeling.

"Born and raised there," he murmured. "A sorrowful curse."

I returned no words, for in my mind several memories were swirling around.

"Why did your mother name you Híthriel?" he asked after a lengthy pause.

"I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe she knew that Finno would find me that day, and take me to Hithlum."

"Lady of Mist," he translated needlessly, but it was comforting to hear the words loll off his tongue. "You've never told me your Quenya name."

"I've never told anyone," I said.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I guess I just never wanted to, never felt the need to. The name is actually a mixture of Sindarin and Quenya. It's what she called me when I was little."

"Will you tell me?" he said.

I looked over to him for a moment, then leaned over and whispered the name in his ear, like a prayer, like a blessing.

When I drew back, there was a small smile playing at my lips. "And why did your mother name you Maitimo?"

I could feel him smiling without looking at him. "Well, I can't say it's inaccurate."

"Oh, really."

"Mhm."

"Getting prideful, are you?" I said.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

"Then I'd like to know just how accurately Nerdanel named you," I said, a mischievous look on my face.

It was a few minutes later when Tyelko's voice rumbled to my ears. "You know, Híthriel, I really wasn't expecting to find you fucking my brother in the middle of this random hill. And Nelyo, isn't it kind of cold to be shirtless? Oh wait, you're keeping each other warm. Ha."

"Actually why do your brothers keep coming upon us?" I said to Mae, then turned to Tyelko. "Also why the fuck is Curvo hiding behind that ridge over there?"

Tyelko cleared his throat. "Oh, we were just planning to have a little talk but—ahem—I came upon you two and I think Curvo would prefer not to."

"All right then, go away. We were talking," I said, shooing him away.

Tyelko smirked. "Yes, you were talking."

I glared daggers at him. "If you don't I'll tell Nelyo about that elleth—"

"All right, all right," Tyelko called, partly running from us. "Have fun, brother!"

"What elleth?" Mae asked, turning to me.

"Can't say. I better keep my promises."

"All right then," he said. "If you must."

"I must," I told him, then sat up suddenly. "I want to show you something."

He situated himself upright, considerably slower than I had done. "What is it?"

"Try not to hold your breath," I said, touching his arm lightly. Closing my eyes, I felt the gentle breeze upon my face then explored deeper, brushing the energy of it and twisting the dimensions, folding them and delving into it. . .

When I opened my eyes again, we were standing beneath a rowan tree on a ravine above the Pass of Aglon, the pass west of Himring and the March. Mae looked around in wonder, noticing the dim lights of Himring in the distance, then turned to me. My wings had unfurled from my back with the use of my sairina, and they loomed like a vast shadow behind me.

"Why, you look nice," he commented.

I peered at the wings over my shoulder, shifting the tips a little with the wind. "Does it really?"

"Yes, of course." He ran a hand along the patagium of my right wing and I smiled up at him.

"It feels good to be free," I said, and sprang from the ravine, gliding with the wind and savoring the release of it. I dived, plummeting into him and barrelling him to the ground.

"I would bring you on a ride, but you're so tall. I doubt I could carry myself and you," I told him.

"That's a pity," he said. "I've always wanted to fly."

I laughed. "Me too."

"Next time we come up here, I'm bringing my sketchbook. Then you would really know how beautiful you are, once I draw you."

"Next time?"

"Yes," he told me, beaming. "I quite like it up here."

"And so do I. Though I wish I could draw."

He rolled his eyes. "You've never tried."

"Yes, I have! Laurefindil tried teaching me when I was little, and masterfully failed."

"Failing is an art form."

"So is falling."

He looked at me quizzically. "What does that have to do with anything?"

The Noldolantë, I suddenly thought. "I don't know."

"You must be tired," he said. "We should head back."

"Head back?" I said mischievously, trying to put my sudden doubt aside. "There is no need for 'heading'. We'll be back in an instant. Unless you would like to scale this crag."

"Very artful play of words, youngling. Have us be back, if you will."

"If that is your will, my lord," I mocked, and let us vanish into the mist.


	14. Part Three: Chapter XIII

CHAPTER XIII

* * *

 _Northern Pass of Aglon, 453_

The watchfires of Dorthonion were alight in the distance, their lights like the stars burning above. Tonight I had given myself leave to wander a little away from the watchtowers at Ladros and the March in the shadows of the Dorthonion Plateaux, which rose in toweringly high, steep walls. I kept close to the shelter of the rocks and trees, for a cold wind blew from through the pass from the lands of the north continuously. Every now and then I would glance at either one of those watchtowers, telling myself that some time alone would do me no harm. I only needed some time to think. I would sense danger before it came to me anyhow.

Yonder I could see Himring although the city lit no torches in the night, for there was only the slight glimmer of candlelights in solitary chambers to those who still lingered in the darkness. Distantly I could make out the outline of Mount Rerir in Thargelion, its high peak lofty over the northern hills over the river Gelion.

The energy in the trees rustled a little and I reached out my senses to feel an Elda coming south down the Pass of Aglon to where I was. I looked in a little deeper then to discern the individual fëa and recognized the feeling of the energy to be Findaráto. I relaxed then; my introvert problems were not so poor when it came to talking to people I knew. Settling back on the rock I had been resting on, I waited for him to reach me, as he was still some leagues away.

When Findaráto emerged from the cover of the trees, I leaned back and stayed silent, expecting him to notice me at some point, but he walked straight past me. He was only a few steps away from me when I made my dramatic entrance.

"Vandë omentaina, meldonya sweet," were my casually spoken words, yet too loud in the still night.

Findaráto froze then swiveled around on his feet, looking up at me perched on the rock with silent surprise. He stumbled over a fallen branch just as a strong gust of wind came blowing down the Pass and bowled him over onto the grass in his astonishment.

"Findaráto!" I was being very careful to not laugh, for it would be quite rude indeed, as I sprang off the rock to help him up. He had already stood up by the time I had gotten there, so I dusted him off needlessly.

He dipped his head quickly, and although confusion blanketed his expression, he still remembered to be polite. "Hantanyel órenyallo," he said as I waved it away. "But whence came you—"

"Really, Findaráto, I was expecting you to notice me but you walked straight past," I told him.

"It wasn't me that scared you this time, at least," he said. "But what are you doing here alone in the dead of the night anyhow?"

"Brooding over the city," I answered. "And you?"

"The same."

"Care for a silent moment atop the rock?" I asked.

"Of course," he said, climbing onto the rock after me.

When the next gale came blowing down the Pass, I spoke. "Have you been at Ladros?"

"Yes," he said. "Visiting Andreth."

"Does she speak to Ambaráto at all anymore?"

"Some," Findaráto told me. "But not very much. She is ashamed of who she thinks she has become. She is an adaneth ninety-two this year, only a year younger than Boron her father's father when he passed."

"It seems to me that the Atani would be happier in places away from the Eldar, so they would not lust for the hröar we have been given," I said.

"True," he said. "They are bitter."

"They do not know the darkness as we do, and although I cannot say I desire for a life as short-lived as theirs they do indeed know the light better," I said.

Findaráto sighed. "Yes. Perhaps in the time to come, some may break away from the Light of the Valar and go to Morgoth and his lackeys."

I looked at him incredulously. "You think?"

"It certainly is possible," he said. "They already envy us enough to do so. If Morgoth can promise them more, some may go to whichever side benefits them the most. But not all, I hope."

"And I hope also," I muttered.

"But do not mistrust them all," Findaráto said. "You must treat them with respect and honor, as you do to any other Elda."

"Needless to say, I know that," I said. "There is no need to tutor me in ways of speech."

"Andreth and Ambaráto. . .They both made promises to each other, and they still hold them, even in their days of estrangement," Findaráto said.

I paused. "You're thinking of Amarië, aren't you? You're wondering if she stayed true to you or if she found someone else in place of you."

He was taken aback. "How do you know about her? Are you reading my mind?"

"No," I said, a small smile playing at my lips. "Artanis told me."

"And why would she?" Findaráto exclaimed.

"Because I asked," I told him. "No need to blame her."

"Hm," he said.

"She told me that you spoke of days of darkness. You said that your realm would fall, and you would have no son to inherit it," I said.

"Indeed." He was biting his lip.

"And that you too, would swear an oath, and go into darkness," I said, turning to him, yet he refused to look at me.

He did not reply, so I turned back to the grasslands of Ard-galen and sighed. "How long do you think this Siege will last?"

"I don't know," he said, "but not forever."


	15. Chapter XIV

Part Three: Of the Flames Like Phantoms

* * *

CHAPTER XIII

* * *

 _Himring, 455_

It happened one winter night four hundred years after the battle which came to be known as Dagor Aglareb. It happened as suddenly as the lashing bite of an adder in the dead of the night. It happened as an event of terrible destruction, and began with the utter breaking of the Long Peace.

I first saw it as a scarlet light in the Northern distance. That night I still had not slept, and sitting by the window, I thought of Findaráto and his interestingly cute obsession with humans. I remembered when Mae was complaining about how he could have seen them too with Findaráto if they had all gone together instead of hunting. Findaráto did indeed make all of us anxious to see what humans were like, and I chuckled to myself thinking of it.

Yet really I was distracting myself from the true reason I had not yet fallen into slumber. Overhead the stars seemed cold and haunting, and there hung no moon in the sky. I had tried to forget the incident with my mother but the memories merely kept on swimming back into my mind, especially the last part she said to me. . .

Your father told me he saw you.

I wondered what it all meant, but then felt the table tremble and the small glass vase on its surface rattle with a foreboding aura. I went tense at this admonition but made no sudden movement, so as to wait and see the cause of this breach of the peace. Then I saw the fire.

At first I ridiculously thought it to be a Silmaril, but as I strained to see it was a crimson glow, a fire. Yet this was not any ordinary fire—it came streaming down from the Gates of Angband in rivers of burning flames like deadly snakes hissing with steaming poison issuing from their fangs. At once I shot out of my place by the window and sprinted to Mae's room. However I met him at the door just as he opened it.

"Couldn't sleep?" he said. "Me too. Yes, I've seen it."

"What is the meaning of this? Is this Morgoth declaring war on us?"

He sighed. "Most likely. Hurry—we must wake the others and prepare ourselves for whatever onslaught that may come. Make haste!"

Although we meant to awake all in the city of Himring, we spoke in soft voices, as if to calm and pacify ourselves. Swiftly we awoke them, but some had already be awoken by others that had seen the flame, and the soldiers quickly gathered themselves to guard the city from whatever nameless fear had come upon us.

I stood next to Mae as the chill of the gale nipped at our faces, and the poisonous fume of the smoke was a vile presence in the air, seeping into my lungs and choking me mercilessly from the inside. The flames had run across the plain of Ard-galen, and destroyed it utterly; no more was its grasses green and beautiful, for it had become naught but gasping dust and bitter ash. Although the heights of the mountains stayed the terrible fire, Balrogs and countless Orcs poured forth from Thangorodrim led by Glaurung, father of dragons, the Urulóki. In the plains the charred bodies of the Noldor lay in their roofless grave, and the ruthless armies of Morgoth plundered on them with their bitter hated feet.

As the news that the Orcs had burst through the Gap reached us, I watched Mae in his silent indifference, yet in sooth his heart burned as a fire within, and the lust for revenge awakened anew; it was told among the Noldor that in battle he was as one that returns from the dead. I greatly admired his prowess in this skill, for I myself was trembling, and had to grip the hilt of my sword until the knuckles turned white in order to keep my emotions from leaking out and taking over. The sudden challenge of this forced war awakened memories of Dagor Aglareb, and this very much unsettled me; the events leading up to the battle still haunted me even four hundred years later.

Mae led us as the Orcs plowed their way to the city, attempting to destroy it utterly yet it was said that he did deeds of surpassing valour, and the Orcs fled before his face. We rode out to the Pass of Aglon so that the Orcs could not enter Beleriand by that road, and the remnants of the people of Dorthonion and of Himring rallied to him. Yet later we pulled back to the city to defend it, but the riders upon Lothlann were overwhelmed for there Glaurung went, and ravaged the land, passing through the Gap.

* * *

 _Himring, 456_

I heard Mae come into the room but did not turn my face.

"What is it?" I said blearily.

"It's Káno." Taken aback with sudden apprehension, I looked up at him with fear and disquiet. "He's fine," he said quickly upon seeing my expression. "He's alive. . .but the people aren't."

I followed him down the corridor to the room where Káno waited. His people had retreated with heavy losses to Himring. He was speaking with some of the others when we entered, but I threw my arms around him, glad to see that he was alive.

"Hey, the arm," Káno said, wincing. "Glad to see you too."

Abruptly a guard burst into the door. "Lord Maedhros, riders have come bearing news."

"What do they say?" He looked up at the guard to face the pressing matter now at hand.

"They say that Dorthonion is lost and the sons of Finarfin overthrown. Angrod and Aegnor are dead, slain in the assault upon Dorthonion. All the sons of Fëanor have been driven from their lands, excluding you."

"What of Findaráto? Finrod Felagund, King of Nargothrond?" I asked.

"He would have been killed or captured if it were not for Barahir of the House of Bëor, but now he has retreated back to Nargothrond where Celegorm and Curufin has gone," the guard told me. Celegorm and Curufin were Tyelko and Curvo's Sindarin names. "They will push all of their force to Hithlum now, and Himring. Someone must go to warn Hithlum of the assault."

"What of the riders that had come?" Mae said.

"Weary and failing. One has collapsed and the other is injured," the guard answered.

"I will go," I said. "I will go to warn Hithlum."

"No," Mae said. "We need you here in Himring."

"You have many others here to guard the city. One other will do nothing. By now several long seasons of war have passed, and the coming of spring is drawing near. The need is dire for Hithlum to be warned. It will not end well if I do not go."

He turned his back to me. "Very well," he said stiffly. "May I have a word with you before you leave?"

"Indeed," I said, striding out of the room.

He followed me down the corridor, and I halted at the end to face him. "Farewell, Lord Maedhros. May the war be well with you in the east."

"How do you plan on getting there?" he said suddenly. "There is no way save for the path north of Dorthonion, and now that is an impossible labyrinth of Morgoth's forces."

"That is the path I plan to take," I said.

"Why?" he asked. "Why—why are you trying to kill yourself. That path is impassible, and you know it. You would have to go through the army itself."

"Hithlum needs me," was my only reply.

"I can't. . .I can't lose you," he whispered. "This isn't—" he inhaled. "All right. Fine. Good luck. Go save Hithlum, and. . .come back, please."

I pulled him in an embrace. "I will."

And for a moment the halls were quiet. I felt dampness at my shoulder. Then abruptly, he drew back. "Go on. I'm only delaying you."

"Farewell, meldonya," I said, and walked away into the shadows.

* * *

 _Hísilómë, 456_

Thus swiftly I rode out to there, clinging on to the desperate hope that it had not yet perished. I went north of Himring through the Pass of Aglon to Dorthonion, and went through the Gap at Ladros. The first day I rested at Aeluin in the eastern highlands of Dorthonion, and rested earlier, for I planned to fly under cover of night to Hithlum. Aeluin was a clear cerulean blue mountain lake amongst wild heather hills, and as I looked down into the water, I remembered Ambaráto and Andreth. In the distance I could hear the shrieks and smell the death and the blood of the battle in northern Dorthonion, and remembered Ambaráto was dead.

Then when darkness fell over the land, I let my wings unfurl and mounted into the air overhead the host of Morgoth to Hithlum, hoping that Findekáno and atto had not yet perished in the storm.

* * *

When I walked into the council room, most of the people had already dispersed, but I found Findekáno standing wearied and fatigued in a corner, hanging his head in despair.

"Findekáno," I said, striding over anxiously. "What's going on?"

His head shot up. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to tell Hithlum of the fall—"

"We already know. Riders from Nargothrond have just come. We've lost. It is the utter ruin of the Noldor. Atto—he just ran out after hearing the news. He's riding to Angamando."

"What? Alone? For what?"

"I've tried to guess his purpose, but I cannot say for sure—he's doing what he tried to do five hundred years ago, when you were eleven."

My mind traced back to those days so many years ago when Finno found me near Lammoth, and the Noldor had camped along Lake Mithrim. . .

I started suddenly. "He's trying to challenge Morgoth?"

"I'm afraid so," Finno said quietly.

I began striding swiftly out of the room. "I'm going after him."

"Hith, no, you don't understand—"

"What? What do I not understand? I must stop him from being in this terrible madness. Don't you know what will happen if I do not do this? Don't you? He will die. And there will be no end to the madness then."

Finno took a shaky breath. "You won't be able to catch up to him. Don't throw your life away so needlessly. . .Please. Don't make me lose both of you. . .I've already sent Artanáro away. . ."

I shook my head stiffly. "I'm losing time arguing with you." Without another word I strode to my horse.

"Hith!" Findekáno shouted after me. "You'll never get past Anfauglith—his armies are still pouring from Thangorodrim. . ."

But I had already gone.

* * *

I rode long and tirelessly but I could never see atto or his horse Rochallor ahead of me. It was told that he passed over Dor-nu-Fauglith like a wind amid the dust, and all that beheld his onset fled in amaze, thinking that Oromë himself was come: for a great madness of rage was upon him, so that his eyes shone like the eyes of the Valar. But I could hear when he came alone to Angband's gates, for he sounded his horn, and smote once more upon the brazen doors, and challenged Morgoth to come forth to single combat.

And Morgoth came.

Yet I was still far away, scarcely halfway over the plain of Anfauglith.

* * *

 _It was said that Morgoth took not the challenge willingly; for though his might was greatest of all things in this world, alone of the Valar he knew fear. But he could not now deny the challenge before the face of his captains; for the rocks rang with the shrill music of Fingolfin's horn, and his voice came keen and clear down into the depths of Angband; and Fingolfin named Morgoth craven, and lord of slaves._

 _Therefore Morgoth came, climbing slowly from his subterranean throne, and the rumour of his feet was like thunder underground. And he issued forth clad in black armour; and he stood before the King like a tower, iron-crowned, and his vast shield, sable on-blazoned, cast a shadow over him like a storm cloud. But Fingolfin gleamed beneath it as a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his blue shield was set with crystals; and he drew his sword Ringil, that glittered like ice.*_

* * *

The bellows of anguish that issued from the Gates was like wood to a scarlet fire for my heart, yet I knew not what I could do now that the duel had already begun. At last I arrived, and seeking a sheltered ledge I beheld Morgoth wounded with seven wounds, and atto standing with his sword gleaming in the shadow of Thangorodrim.

Somehow it seemed as if atto was almost winning, and hope was renewed in my heart. As Morgoth hurled aloft Grond, Hammer of the Underworld, he leapt away as a lightning shoots from a dark cloud. Each time Morgoth prepared to attack, my heart was seized with an illimitable pressure, and it seemed as if my very breath was choking me mercilessly as it stuck in my throat. I could do nothing but watch, or maybe I could, but I was too much in shock to do anything. Even now I condemn myself for this.

The duel had raged long and relentlessly, and I could see from my high ledge that atto was wearying. I cried aloud in despair as Morgoth bore down his shield upon him. Thrice he was crushed to his knees, and thrice arose again and bore up his broken shield and stricken helm. But the earth was all rent and pitted about him, and he stumbled and fell backward before the feet of Morgoth; and Morgoth set his left foot upon his neck, and the weight of it was like a fallen hill. Yet with his last and desperate stroke he hewed the foot with Ringil, and the blood gushed forth black and smoking and filled the pits of Grond.

I stared down in horror at his face, so tormented and forlorn, yet it did not seem like that to me at the time, for a memory so seemingly random swam into my head. My eyes blurred. And the light in his eyes flickered once, twice. . .and died.

I do not recall exactly what I did when Morgoth took his body and broke it, and was about to cast it to his wolves, but it had given my secrecy away. Backing up from my haunched pose, I fought for breath wildly, when suddenly hands closed on my neck from behind. I thrashed and my hand thrust upward into the attacker's face. When I reeled around, gasping, I saw that it was an orc. It granted me no time to prepare as it launched itself at me again, so I could only use my fists and legs for defense. However as I barreled away, I wrenched out my daggers, but my movements were languid and frail, as if I was moving in viscous water. The orc plowed into me and I staggered back, and in the corner of my eye I saw more orcs hastening toward me.

Why should I deserve to fight back, and have the chance to be free when I had just left my father to die? Why should I deserve to be alive when I had just done this terrible deed? Perhaps it would be better to succumb to the darkness, and disperse into shadow. . .I was no better. Why did all the people of Hithlum, of Nargothrond, of Gondolin reject me after my thralldom in Angband? Why did they treat me like they had never known me before, like I was a traitor and a whore? It was because I deserved it, and I was no better.

I deserved it.

Thus I fought back no more, and let myself be taken into eternal darkness.

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Atto._ (Q) Father.

 _Meldonya._ (Q) My friend.

* * *

*Chapter XVIII, "Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin," _The Quenta Silmarillion_.


	16. Chapter XV

CHAPTER XV

* * *

 _Angamando, 456_

"Why hello dear Híthriel," Sauron drawled. "Look how you've grown."

"What right do you have to say that?" I hissed.

"I have every right," he said simply. "You'll know soon enough."

I said nothing.

"I'm very excited for the following years to come," he said, curling his words like a whip. "Not just because you're here, but because Melkor has nearly accomplished what he set out to do. Beleriand is falling. You have seen it, witnessed it, haven't you, with the death of your beloved atto."

I clenched my teeth and held my tongue. Upon seeing my expression he laughed, a vile, wicked laugh that instantly made every part of my body scream in fear. He crooked a finger under my chin and lifted it up, forcing me to stare into those cruel, merciless eyes—

"Your mother told me she saw you," he said softly, so softly that it seemed mercy he had not already begun to break those delicate fingers of mine. He laughed again at the shock suddenly ignited in my eyes. "I met her long ago, in Eldamar, when she was but a young elf-child. She was marvelled by me and my excellence and soon fell in love. And one day, she came to me, and how could I refuse?"

Revelation had begun to dawn on my face and I felt my face blanch. He did not laugh this time, but merely watched the torment dance as shadows of moths in a lantern in my expression, clawing the sanity away from me bit by bit.

"Of course I could not. So she soon got pregnant. And you know how it is for an unclean female Elda in Valinor, don't you?" He paused. "But the Valar—they kept this incident a secret, and they sent her away, across the sea, to Endor, where she had her child." He turned his gaze toward me.

"Yes, I am afraid the bare truth is more painful than a needle," he said plainly. "You are my biological daughter, and I your biological father."

The words had just begun to sink in—the merciless, terrible truth that made every muscle in my body scream. This could not be true, it could not be. My mother was not like this, this was not how I remembered my mother to be. Then suddenly there came a wisp of something into my mind, viscous like honey, as sweet as a melon, as soft as silk, and it twisted my thoughts, turned them into something dark and defiling. My mind screamed and thrust the darkness from my mind so hard that he stumbled back on his feet.

"Ah, you have gotten stronger, I see," he said, slowly, lazily, as if he did not care of it. But suddenly he lashed out again with his mind so viciously that I was thrust backwards. I felt the darkness attempt to break through, softening the shield, caressing it so lovingly, so gently that I wanted to let it just seep through. His fingers stroked my fingers, broken and twisted at the wrong angles from the man the day before and travelled to the gash across my face over my eye.

"I can help you fix this," he said softly and took the fingers and snapped them back. I cried out in pain but a scarlet mist billowed around it and they cracked and straightened back into place. The pain lingered in my fingers, however, and I was gasping for breath, brows furrowed. The fingers moved to my face then and tickled the gash. There was a sudden fire searing through my face as if it was being ripped open then it was replaced by a tingling sensation like shivers.

The chains loosened and I fell to the ground. I reached up my healed hands to touch my face. The skin was still ripped and torn but to an outer gaze there was nothing. I looked up at him as he cupped my face. He could feel the scar also.

No. Remember Artanis, remember what Artanis told you, fight, fight against it, keep that shield strong. . .but the darkness was so soothing, like a cool shadow to sink into, yet I was screaming at myself inside, screaming at myself to not give in. . .Then softly, there came a gentle voice through the darkness, entwining itself through the threads of my mind. "Succumb to the darkness," it whispered. "Come to me." The darkness grew comforting, slowly leaking into my mind, but it went on millimeter too far—

I lashed out with all the strength I could muster; I wanted to thoroughly expel this terrible darkness from my mind, from my body, from the world, make it get away from me, get it away—

There was a growl and suddenly his eyes were glowing dangerously crimson in my face. The chains tightened and I was yanked upright. I braced myself for something—something terrible to come, perhaps unbearable pain of some sort, but he pulled back.

"Truly my child," he purred. "Almost as powerful as I am." He turned away, and I could have sworn his chest was heaving. But when he turned back, there was a new glint of malice in his eyes.

"Let's see if you can get out of those chains of yours." He tapped them with a long fingernail and they clinked. "They're not enchanted at all. I could get out of them myself."

I managed to hiss at him but the thought of being free from these terrible bonds poisoned my mind; I hated doing what he asked of me with the entirely of my being but I was already slave to the poison. So I concentrated the energy to hum in my body, and it began to build up. I felt my fingers tingle as the crackling energy reached the fingertips. Then the energy burst out and I cried out desperately—but the chains merely rattled. I tried again and again, each time using more of the power trembling beneath my skin, waiting to break through, but I could not get out.

I could not get out.

I could not get out.

There was nothing I could do but sag back heavily, defeated.

"Give up so easily?" he chided, a finger nicking my face.

I flinched back. "Don't you dare touch me, you dreadful monster."

But that terrible finger slid down over my cheekbone and traced the collarbone. "And why is that so, Híthriel dear?"

Don't make me say it, please, don't make me say it, I could not do this, don't do this to me, please don't—

"Hm?" he rumbled.

No. I could not, I could not, I would not say it, please, please no. . .abruptly I felt the darkness attempt to probe its way through the shield I was fighting to keep up—

"NO!" I screamed aloud. The chains rattled harder than ever and when he leaned closer to me I could feel the warm breath on my face, so comforting, so warm, for the dungeons were freezing. But the hair on my skin prickled and stood up and wildly, I threw my legs out as an act of desperation for him to get away. Overwhelmed by the unexpected attack he was shoved to the ground. Taking my chance, those savage claws of my mind whipped out and forced him to stay bowed on the ground.

The claws were merciless. I ripped through his mental shields, leaving them in nothing but tattered shreds, and tore through it all, embedding in it the hate that had built up slowly, dauntingly, through the long years. Of all the beings in the world this monster was the one that deserved this truly. He was still cowering on the ground but I was growing weak from the prolonged attack. Thrashing suddenly up, he yanked a dangling chain and I cried out as my shoulder was dislocated. My talons faltered and he brutally clawed it away and I shrank back, wanting the pain to just stop, to end now.

His crimson eyes were blazing with furious rage—out of all people, it had been I that had conquered him. Him, the lieutenant of the Dark Lord Morgoth, that had nearly captured all of Beleriand, that could battle a wolf with his bare hands, that overpowered all save his master. He drove his fist into my ribs. I shrieked as a bone cracked. Then another. Then another. But it wasn't enough for him. He drew back for a brief moment and for a split second I thought it had come to an end at last, and I slumped over. Suddenly an ember seemed to be ignited in his body that grew and reached every part of him until at his fingertips was a dark fire. The hands as honed claws raked down my body and I was screaming, screaming for pity, for mercy, for it all to end—

At last it was over. He pulled back, specks of blood dotting his face and blotches of it on his garments. Now he could not restrain the uncontrollable heaving of his chest; the attacks had taken much from him. Nothing was said as he strode out of the room, jerking a chain so I collapsed on the ground, shaking and sobbing.

But it had become more than just a black scar. The very dark arts of sorcery cursed it with a terrible curse that could not be undone, not even with the most powerful.

* * *

My eyes flickered open to the dim glint of candlelights. The first thing I knew was that I was lying on my back on a bed so soft it made me never want to think again, and that frightened me. Almost everything did. Suddenly seized with an unspoken terror, I shot upright, but a flaring pain spasmed through the wounds I had forgotten, and the cursèd scar.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice drawled as I fell, defeated, back into the bed.

I did not need to glance at the figure that came emerging from the shadows to know who it was. The blankets had fallen down to expose my bare shoulders, and the scar, hideous and black, whose poison still pulsed through my veins.

"An interesting thing, that," Mirnetyo said, jerking his chin to the scar.

"Interesting? It is a curse," I hissed as another shocking pain knifed through me.

Mirnetyo turned to me suddenly and cupped a hand around my face. Almost instantly the pain seemed to vanish.

"Can you. . .take it away?" I whispered as he drew back, my voice so helpless, so desperate.

"No," he told me. "That's why I said it was interesting." He was facing the wall when he spoke again. "You really have to relearn your courtesies. Moving so fast would give you a lashing from anyone but me. It would really save you a lot of pain to just do what Lord Mairon wants."

"I don't understand," I breathed. "How can you—"

"I was born and bred here, you forget, my Lady," he mocked, his eyes hardening. "My life has been very different from yours."

"I know," I said. "I know. That's what frightened me the most." I paused. "How did you heal me so quickly?"

He laughed a sharp laugh. "A life for a life, Híthriel, you know how it works." He straightened and presumed to pace around the chamber. "I take it you were there when Glaurung first came forth?"

I did not answer.

"Some say he was made when Lord Mairon shifted into a crocodile and fucked an alligator," Mirnetyo began. I didn't laugh, of course. Why would I? It was the most plausible explanation for the existence of dragons. "He's made you another one of his experiments," he said, his voice monotonous and revealing nothing.

My eyes had widened in fear and bewilderment. "Me. . .and you?" I whispered.

"Indeed," Mirnetyo said, static and unfeeling. "We are, in fact, the offspring of the two most powerful disciples of Lord Melkor: his own Lieutenant Mairon and Thuringwethil of Hidden Shadow. What a splendid idea, don't you think?"

"No, I can't do this," I said, backing away as he sidled closer. "I can't betray the ones I love. Not like this. I've seen the Urulóki they've kept hidden in the depths of this wretched place. When they are unleashed they will kill hundreds—thousands. No, Mirnetyo, don't make me do this."

"I have no more freedom to choose then you have," he murmured, our noses almost touching.

"No. You do. Can you not—"

"Hush, my Lady," he said. "Do not speak."

Notwithstanding the fact that my arms were still weak and frail, I tried to push him away. "Mirnetyo, you are better than this. I remember all of those times you saved me from the wrath of the orkor all those years ago, when you were a boy scarcely into your manhood. I know you have lived your entire life in this hell, but you must not yield to it. Mirnetyo. Listen to me. Yielding to them is not what you want—"

Suddenly there was a fire ablaze in his violet eyes and his iron nails slipped out, the look on his face lethal.

Yet I held his gaze, unwavering. "You won't hurt me."

Even in the dimness of the chamber I could see his chest heaving and his face contorted with the struggle. And at last the claws retracted, but he turned his face to the shadows. Then, like the bite of an adder, he pressed a hand on the scar and a screaming agony was unleashed through my body.

"I told you obedience would save you a lot of pain," Mirnetyo whispered.


	17. Chapter XVI

CHAPTER XVI

* * *

 _Angamando, 457_

Everything was all the same from the year before, only this time, the irons were indeed enchanted, as he had promised.

The door before me opened and closed, but I paid no heed to it, at least not with my eyes. From the scent and feel of the person, I knew it was Mirnetyo once again.

"How did you do it?" he whispered. "You should be dead."

I lifted my head then. "I'm surprised you would ask this, my Lord," I mocked, just as he did that first night. "A life for a life. You know how it works." I held his gaze, steely and unfaltering. "Even though I did not want the life for myself."

"Then why did you do it? Why did you kill the child before it was even born?"

"Love and compassion are foreign things to you, I know," I said. "But you stopped Morgoth's faithful lieutenant from killing me again."

"I did it because Lord Melkor would have had more use of you," Mirnetyo said.

"Does he though? Does he? Why I wonder what he will do to me now. He barely gives a shit about me. I don't an inkling of and idea why he helped you stop him."

"You know the Noldor. You know their secrets. That is what he wants. Information so he can destroy the Noldor once and for all." His claws slid out and suddenly I was on the ground, the chains fallen from my body. When I had collapsed again after being hauled up, he threw my arm around his shoulder and pressed a supporting hand at my side.

"Come on," he drawled. "We shan't keep them waiting."

* * *

 _—_ _Later_ _—_

 _I let them kill the ellon. . .I let them kill him, when I had a choice. . .a choice to tell them. . .a choice to succumb. . .a choice to yield. . .a choice to save one life or delay the death of the ones whom I loved. . .why did I do it why did I do it why did I do it—_

Then suddenly there was a warm hand upon my face. I looked up at Mirnetyo. "Why did I do it," I whispered.

He could offer me no more comfort than the sorrow brimming in his eyes. Although I knew he had killed before, had killed without a second glance, had killed to ensure that _I_ healed fast enough for Mairon's expectations, but his eyes seemed different now, the steel vanishing a little. He brushed my tears away with his thumb them examined the gash at my side.

 _Don't kill anyone else for that_. I was too wearied to speak.

He turned away. "I cannot promise you that."

* * *

"You know, I did meet my father," Mirnetyo said. "I wasn't a complete bastard child."

"Where?" I asked.

"In the mines," he told me. "I didn't know at first, but when I felt his energy, I knew."

"What happened to him?" I said softly.

"I tried. . .I tried to help him escape through the mines. . ." He drew a rattling breath. "But Thuringwethil—my mother—she caught us, and I killed him."

"Mercy kill?" I whispered.

"He asked me to," Mirnetyo breathed, "so I did."

I looked up at him in wonder upon hearing the tone of his voice. "Would you do it for me," I said quietly, "if I asked?"

"I think I must," he said softly. "I think that will be my last gift to you."

"What will you do," I said, "when they find out it was you?"

"Gladly accept my punishment," he told me, "and whatever doom awaits me."

I closed my eyes, a solitary tear slipping out form beneath my lashes. "I'm sorry."

"We all have sacrifices to make," he said, then retreated out of the chamber. "Lord Mairon will be calling for you soon."

* * *

 _—_ _Nineteen hours later_ _—_

The door opened and closed. The shadow of Mirnetyo's massive bat-like wings, in stark contrast to my dropping eagle-like ones, was cast on the floor before me. I lifted my eyes slowly to meet his violet ones. As usual, he slashed the chains short, but this time before I could fall and dislocate my shoulder again he caught me. I braced a hand against the wall and drew in a shuddering breath, gazing at the dagger in his hand. He looked at it too, along with his trembling hand.

"Is there no other way? I could help you escape here," he said, eyes for once showing desperation.

"No," I told him softly. "You must do this. Please. For all the last free peoples of Beleriand."

He inhaled sharply and let it out unsteadily.

"I ask for it," I breathed. "Will you give it to me?"

Slowly, he lifted the dagger up and placed the point of it at my chest, right above my fluttering heart.

A lone tear tumbled down my face. "Farewell," I whispered.

"Namárië," he murmured, and thrust the dagger into my chest.

All vanished then, and I sagged to the ground, scarlet pooling from my chest. Instantly I knew that something was wrong. The dagger was still embedded in my flesh, but as I looked down gasping, I saw that it had not pierced all the way through, and the hilt was smeared with blood. My ears were clogged and it seemed as if I was in water, fighting to hear, fighting to see. Something pierced through the darkness—a sound, no, a shriek—and suddenly the voice I dreaded to hear was beside me.

"What's going on here, Híthriel dear?" Mairon drawled. "Do you not enjoy the comfort of my hospitality?" His long, slender fingers curled around the hilt of the dagger and yanked it out. A sputtering cry burst out of me as my blood seeped onto the floor. Fighting to stay conscious, I lifted my eyes to see Mirnetyo bent over on the ground, half of a wing torn off. The lieutenant dragged him over by the torn wing and dumped him before me. I barely met his despairing eyes before the lieutenant hauled me upright and pressed a hand to the gaping wound at my chest. He was using Mirnetyo's life force to heal _me_. Again. I swore that this would never happen again and yet it was, and there would never be an escape to this terrible terrible tunnel with no ending. I screamed and struggled but knew it would do nothing. Nothing at all would be changed.

At last he broke away and I shrunk back, the blood on my hands smearing the wall. Morgoth's lieutenant looked at me, his eyes cold and cruel, dead long ago. "Would it not be pity to kill him now?" he mused, searching my eyes. He flipped my bloodied dagger into his hand and offered it by the hilt to me.

I shook my head furiously. "No," I growled. "No, you can't make me."

"Oh, really," he said, then snapped his fingers. A Maia came into the chamber, dragging an elleth by the hair. She was young, yet her hair was graying, something that only happened to the old of the Atani, and still she struggled furiously to be free of his grip.

Sauron turned lazily to me, his luscious hair somehow glistening in the shadows. "Choose one," he told me, and closed my fingers over the hilt, "or they both die."

Slowly, I turned to Mirnetyo, who was still on his knees, blood leaking from his back. He lifted his eyes to meet mine, the violet irises set with the answer. I looked at the lieutenant again, then to the elleth, then back to Mirnetyo. I raised aloft the dagger.

"That's a good girl," the lieutenant whispered. "Every hour, waking and sleeping, you are becoming more of who you were meant to be, my yendë."

 _Don't listen to him, don't listen,_ Mirnetyo told me. _This is what I want, this is what I ask for. Will you give it to me?_

I did not reply. I remembered the second night, when I had traced my fingers along the scars at his back. "So this is why you hate lashings," I had said.

"Perhaps," he had said in answer.

Now in his eyes I could see my own, silent and unfeeling, set for doom. My eyes were dark from birth, for the night sky, for despair, for doom. This is what had become of me. Perhaps I truly was a monster. Perhaps I truly was already dead.

"Go on," the lieutenant murmured.

 _You deserved better than this_ , I told Mirnetyo, and plunged the dagger through his heart, until the point of the blade came out on the other side. I watched silently as the light died in his eyes, then wrenched it out. He fell onto his side, and the blood finally ceased to flow.

I turned to the lieutenant, scarlet dripping from the dagger in my hand.

"Very good, my yendë," he said, the corners of his mouth tilting upward.

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Yendë._ (Q) Daughter.


	18. Chapter XVII

CHAPTER XVII

* * *

One day a guard came to my cell and ripped the chains off the walls, making me stumble to the ground. As I looked beneath the shadowed hood, I could see that it was yet another Maia, the one from the day I had killed Mirnetyo, with beautiful features sharp with cruelty and malice. I knew what to expect, yet he did not lead me where I had surmised initially. We went deep, deep down the steep stairs, all the way to the mines where the other enslaved Eldalië laboured.

The Maia guard slashed the chains short on my ankles and wrists and shoved me at the feet of a commanding orc. Some of the Eldalië wavered in their drudgery but the orc snarled at them and they hurriedly averted their eyes and slammed their pickaxes on the rock again and again, like the daunting tattoo of a bass drum.

"Enjoy your new pet," the Maia guard said, and departed.

The commanding orc peered at me, merciless whip in hand. "What can you do, elleth in exile?" The words were a curse, a damned curse of maleficence.

"Nothing," and the orc's eyes bored ruthlessly into me, "much. I know barely a few tricks in forging; I have only watched my brothers in this art."

"False," the orc commander jeered. "Incorrect. Anyone can hit rock and metal with a little bit of instruction."

I had learned to keep my head bowed, and said nothing, for I had not been commanded to speak.

"Get the elleth a hammer," the orc growled, and the nearest ellon stumbled over and offered it to me, but I did not take it from his shaking palm. He could barely hold up the hammer; he was thin and trembling, and the grime and dust on his body mixed with the blood leaking from his head and back.

"Take it," the orc barked, and I did, only to release the burden from the ellon. The orc strode past him and rammed its boot into his stomach. "Get up," the orc said, "and show the elleth how things work around here." But the ellon shuddered painfully on the ground, unable to do so. The orc kicked him again. "Don't make me ask you again. Get up." He tried again but failed, and the orc, hissing, raised his whip. "Useless scum. Better off dead." The whip rose and fell, and the ellon screamed. Again. And again. And again.

A sudden fury rushed into my blood and the hammer in my hand lifted and rammed into the commanding orc's head.

Yet suddenly the fury was gone as I realized what I had just done, and dropped the hammer in horror. Other orcs charged toward me and I braced myself, clenching my jaw and grinding my teeth. But the commanding orc on the ground raised a furious fist. The other orcs were frozen in their steps, as if suddenly encased in ice.

"That was a perfect introduction to your instruction," said the orc, blood seeping out of the side of its head. "He'll show you how it's done, won't you, ellon?" Standing up, it jabbed at the ellon on the ground. The orc jerked its chin at the others and they forced some orcish medicine down his throat and rubbed his wounds with a dark substance that looked like soil mixed with ash.

"Happy now?" the orc hissed at me.

The ellon coughed and sputtered, and the orcs hauled him onto his feet.

"Show the elleth how it's done." The orc seized his hand and pressed the whip's helve into his fist. "Show her how it's done." The ellon was shoved to face me.

I cowered before the orc and the ellon, crushing my hands into fists, then unfurled them to grip the ground for support. . .

But the ellon did nothing; he merely stood there, silent and undisturbed, although his ragged breathing was still laced with pain.

The orc commander laughed. "So valiant, so loyal. This is your last chance, or you will watch her suffer."

The ellon moved not from his stance. The orc commander growled. "Very well." A well-aimed punch struck him in the face, and he fell.

Suddenly a shape moved in the shadows. "Get out of my way," Sauron said, but the voice was calm and calculating, almost tranquil to the ears.

The commanding orc immediately moved aside, and Sauron bent down so the ellon wheezing on the ground so that their faces were a mere two inches apart and his luscious hair tickled the ellon's exposed collarbones.

"You sure about this?" the lieutenant breathed. "Would you really want your freedom taken away?"

The ellon quavered in fear of the unknown and quailed before him, trying to avert his eyes from the unearthly gaze of his crimson eyes. The lieutenant's eyes pierced into his and the energy around them began to hum. The ellon's eyes grew muddled and unfocused, and the lieutenant's hand raised gracefully, slipping the ellon's eyelids shut. The thrum of energy began to pulse now, and grow faster, uncontrolled, and there was a wailing screech in the midst of it like fingernails on a blackboard.

Then it ended. The lieutenant's hand fell from his face. And slowly, the ellon's eyes opened.

"Show the elleth how it's done," the lieutenant whispered, and pressed the whip back into his hand.

His movements were jolting and stiff at first but were soon smoothed out by the power the lieutenant released. His face was the only part that was not under the terrible curse and he mouthed the word a few times before it finally came bursting out—

"No," he rasped. "NO."

The lieutenant merely grinned.

The whip, trembling, whistled like a gale out of the north as it lashed down on my back, ripping through skin and flesh mercilessly—

A splitting scream tore through my throat. My forearms thudded against the unyielding ground as I held myself up, pain crackling through my body.

I could feel the ellon's hands shaking, clutching the helve of the whip, I could feel his teeth grinding together, eyes rooted in horror to what he had just done, I could feel his breath rushing out and sucking back in like the energy that was throbbing in synchronization to the pain in my body. . .

"Don't stop now," the lieutenant said softly. "Keep going. Twenty lashes."

I vowed not to scream, not to cry out in pain for the ellon whose hand now rose and fell. Again. Lips pressed in silent agony. Again. A small sputter issued out of my mouth. Again. I ground my teeth together.

"Harder, boy. You have to mean it," the lieutenant drawled. "Count for me. Let me hear you count."

One. Two. Three.

"I can't hear you. . ." The voice crooned.

Four. Five. Six. Seven. . .

The ground before me had gone hazy and blurred as if a dark mist had passed before it and all had vanished to starless night, except it was not simply a night—it was an abyss of endless darkness. Crimson spots dotted my vision and darker ones swam to and fro growing larger by the moment until they wholly enveloped me and all faded to darkness.

* * *

I woke to numbing pain. A spasm of pain down my body had jarred me back to consciousness, and I found that I was lying on my side with my head resting on a hastily folded blanket. I gasped, fighting for more air in my lungs, and there was instantly a calming hand on my arm. I flinched but relaxed slightly as I saw that it was an Elda, but my eyes widened as I recognized the face.

"Saerin?" I said incredulous, but merely a rasp issued from my throat.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

I opened my mouth, but couldn't find the voice to speak.

"It's all right," he said softly. "Don't speak then."

I coughed, attempting to clear my throat. "Where arrghhhh—" My body was seized into a fit of coughing and blood dribbled out of my mouth. I tried spitting it out as the metallic taste of the blood welled up. My voice was hoarse as I spoke.

"Where—where is the other one?" I asked.

"In the mines. He's all right." Saerin gestured to the tunnel on my right. "They sent me here to make sure you lived. They've already given you the orc medicine to make sure you heal as fast as possible. Probably make you start working tomorrow."

I winced, thinking of how soon that would come to pass.

"Late tomorrow, I hope," he sighed.

I looked up at him. "Bragollach?" I asked quietly.

"Yes," Saerin said.

I nodded but said nothing of it, and braced myself up on my forearms. "Can you help me sit up? It's uncomfortable talking laying down."

He nodded, lightly pressing his hand on my back. "Does it hurt at all?"

"Doubtless," I said. "But no more than it already is."

With some effort, I pushed down on the ground as he hoisted me upright. My frail muscles shook and sweat beaded my brow. Chest heaving from the effort, I breathed out and drew more air in as if to pump more life into myself.

"You all right?" Saerin asked.

"Yes. Just give me a moment." Chin tilted up, I squeezed my eyes shut and sucked in the coursing pain. My hands balled into fists, tightening my muscles and cramping my neck.

"Tell me about Hithlum," I gasped.

He might have been surprised, but I couldn't open my eyes to look. Although faltering, he spoke at last. "I remember—I remember Lake Mithrim, its waters so clear that you could see the rocks at the bottom on the shallow side. I remember the Mountains of Mithrim; it's ever so beautiful purple glow at twilight. I remember. . .I remember. . ."

"I remember it too," I murmured, the pain subsiding a little, or at least I was able to contain it.

"The orcs' gossip do not come short of you."

I wasn't surprised. "What do they say?"

"Things of you and the lieutenant."

Suddenly I didn't want to hear about it anymore. "Ah."

There was a pause. Then—

"Thank you for smashing the orc's head with that hammer. It was fulfilling to watch," he said. "Yet terrifying."

"I would do it again if I could," I said in reply.

But abruptly I was aware that there was something lurking in the shadows—someone.

The lieutenant glided out of the gloom of the tunnels, twirling a short knife with a scarlet jewel at its hilt. Saerin stood up, and the corners of the lieutenant's mouth tilted upward.

"How is my girl doing?" he drawled.

"Healing swiftly," Saerin said, steadying his voice.

"Hm, is that so?" the lieutenant rumbled. "You forgot to address me as my Lord."

Saerin didn't reply, for the lieutenant had bent down and leaned into my face. "How are you doing, dear Híthriel?"

I dared not say anything. The fingers traced the scars down my back slowly and drifted up to my face.

"Hm," he said. "Too slow."

"I could do nothing more. My Lord," Saerin said, stumbling over his words.

"That's a pity," the lieutenant mused.

I could feel Saerin holding his breath as the lieutenant's gaze pierced into me once more.

The hand on my back abruptly crushed into the tattered scars of my skin as I felt the necromancy pulse through my body, a burning fire tearing through me—

I crumpled over, gasping for breath as the fire left me as suddenly as it had come.

"Happy Holidays," the lieutenant said as he vanished into the labyrinth of the tunnels.

"I'm fine," I said, holding up a hand to Saerin. I planted my feet on the ground as firmly as I could manage and slowly stood up, bracing my hands on the wall. At last I straightened my back and came face to face with Saerin, but for some reason he was still taller than me.

"I'm fine," I repeated. "I'll live."

* * *

The orcish medicine did indeed do its work quickly, although the process was no less painful. I was thrown to work in the mines the following night. There in the mines I met others, and as I looked I saw the ellon I had 'saved' the other day. He met my eyes and sidled over to me, being careful to not be noticed by the orc overseer.

"Hannon le," he said, then glancing over his shoulder anxiously, he lowered his voice. "My name is Silivros."

I dipped my head. "Híthriel."

"You saved my life that day," Silivros told me. "I can never forget that. I've seen people die here, no one willing to help. I thought I'd just become one of them."

Again I dipped my head. "I'm glad you're all right."

He ceased to slam his hammer on the iron for a moment to look at me. "You don't talk much, do you." It wasn't entirely a question.

"I suppose not," I said, refusing to look at him as he turned back to his work.

"Where do you come from?" Silivros asked.

I paused. "Hithlum," I said.

"I'm from Doriath," he told me. "Now that I'm here, I cannot see why Elu Thingol hates the Noldor. We're all the same here, all bunched up together, waiting to be slaughtered."

I glanced at him. "How old are you?"

"Forty-two," he said.

I was incredulous. "You're so young," I said softly, sorrowfully.

He smiled a little, despite what was around us. "I'm told that a lot. What about you?"

"Four hundred something," I told him. "I don't keep track anymore."

Silivros opened his mouth to speak but the orc overseer sauntered over and struck me at the side of my face, sending me crashing to the ground. Quickly Silivros lowered his eyes and put all his attention on the hammer before him. I lifted my head and spit blood on the ground along with a tooth. The overseer rammed his foot into my ribs and I gasped as he gripped me by the neck and thrust me against the jagged cave walls.

"Shut up," the overseer drawled, "or I'll have him fuck you the next time you don't." He jerked his chin to Silivros, who did not turn although his eyes widened. The overseer wrenched his hand away from my throat and I collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping.

I could see Silivros's eyes searching for me yet knowing if he did anything, it would only make it worse. The overseer walked away, but he was still watching.

* * *

I met others there including Gelmir of Nargothrond and Isilmë of Mithrim, but there were many others down in those dark tunnels that perished alone and were forgotten. Those despairing stories were many, and there were some I tried to save and failed.

After a few years I stopped trying. There had been too many sorrows, too many losses. Most of them died anyway, and more kept coming. What could I do against such terrible injustice? Much of who I was before had been burned until there was nothing left but ash charred in the dust and the dust was now swirling in the arid wind, round and round in circles, never ending.

Five years after I had first been into the mines Isilmë was slain. He had disobeyed orders and thus they stuck his head in the fields of ash and buried him alive. They forced us to watch the entire execution just to break us—from his pleading shrieks to his last dying breath. Gelmir and Saerin unburied him later, and cremated the body. I couldn't bear to watch; it all made me sick. I found Silivros vomiting in one of the secret tunnels soon after the execution, and promptly turned back.

All this time in my mind I was formulating a plan of escape, but now I regretted that I had not acted earlier. Perhaps I could have saved his life, perhaps he would not be dead now, dead and never to arise again. Thus I knew that it was the time to carry out the plan at last.


	19. Chapter XVIII

CHAPTER XVIII

* * *

Tonight, all I dreamt of was a glistering cold full moon. I was sitting on a rock by the sea, the calm waves lapping gently at my feet, and it was only after a while that I realized I was at the place below the precipice where ammë's cottage stood. Sometimes, when I was angry or sad, I would come here alone and maybe I would feel a little better. Then I would collect the seashells and arrange them in pretty patterns on the sand. In the dream I never once moved. The moon never changed; not even a wisp of cloud came in the way. It was merely there, as I sat by the waves and the water, the wind brushing my unbound hair to one side.

There was a hand on my shoulder then, and my eyes flickered open. Lord Mairon was bending over me, a finger pressed against his lips to signal silence. I had been lying on my side, and now I shifted onto my back, seeing him full in the face. Even in the darkness of the unlit forge, his eyes glinted crimson against his pale countenance, a foreboding admonition. Tonight the iron circlet was not atop his head and his auburn waves of hair was left unbound, as mine was at the moment.

 _Come_ , he said, straightening up. _I have a gift for you._

Silently I obeyed, and when I stood he draped a cloak over my shoulders. I looked at him incredulously, but he paid me no heed. I hugged the cloak to me, savoring the warmth I had not felt in so long, and followed him as he stepped away from the caves. We passed Silivros as he slept on his side, his silver hair covering much of his face. Saerin, a few yards away, slept on his back, his hands folded atop his chest. The lieutenant led me away from them all, and to the stairway that led up. I halted at the foot of the stairs, but he looked back and beckoned me to follow again. I did.

He led me to the top of Thangorodrim, the place I had first found my wings. As I emerged from the staircase to find open air at last, I could not help but breath it in deeply, feeling the freshness of it fill my lungs. I closed my eyes and felt the wind blow at my face, the feeling I thought I had long lost rushing back to me.

I found that he was watching me when I finally opened my eyes again. He had let his wings come forth from his back, and they shifted, majestic and beautiful, in the moonlight. Meeting my eyes, he jerked his chin to my back, and I knew what he wanted.

"I can't," I said. "Not with the scar you gave me."

His crimson eyes bored into me and I felt something in the energy shift. I inhaled a gasping breath as I felt the energy come rushing back to me.

His expression remained impassive. "Now try."

I drew in a deep breath then clenched my jaw as my wings unfurled, stretching the scars on my back, although it was comforting to be in this form again.

He studied them in a very scientific manner. "Quite like my own," he commented. He took my arm and I flinched. "It's all right," he murmured into my ear, and launched off the side of Thangorodrim.

I had not felt so free in years. The moment after we sprang off the precipice, he had released my arm and let me fly free over the mountainside. The trees were young and green after the Bragollach, and some charred remains still stood amongst them. There were silver mists hanging about the air, generating a certain luminous energy that hummed through the atmosphere, and they felt like the softest silk when I flew through them. If I had not been taught to circle around the perilous energies and dimensions, I easily would have strayed and lost my way. We glided above black lakes, their glassy surfaces mirror smooth, and although I could feel the presence of many deadly creatures lurking beneath the surface, there was no sign of it from above.

I could fly away now, free, I supposed, and perhaps he would not stop me.

Yet I followed him over the alpine fens, the barren rock, the sheer cliffs—until we made a smooth landing in the dead forest. Here trees had not yet grown since the Bragollach; the only trees that stood were bone-white, barren, and dead, and the ground was smothered in thick volcanic ash. He was wearing shoes, but I was barefoot, and although I expected the ash to stain my feet, they slid off my skin easily as I walked. I surmised we were somewhere in the north of Ered Engrin, close to the land of Dor Daidelos.

"Why have you brought me here?" I said. His back was to me, and I could see his auburn hair glow in the moonlight.

"You belong here, you know," he said. "Even the cinders know it. You will find they will do what you will them to, because they like you."

He turned to face me, and I met his gaze. Then slowly, I lowered my eyes to the ground, lifting a hand before me, palm up, and the ashes glided across the tips of my fingers, dancing, as if in delight.

"You see?" he whispered. "They adore you. They love you."

I studied the ashes circling above the palm of my hand for a moment, then spoke again. "You want to make me your war machine."

He didn't reply, so I went on. "Why did you kill Mirnetyo?"

"It was your hand, not mine," he said.

I waited.

"He was growing weak." His lips barely moved. "Becoming a crow instead of a raven. I had no more use of him."

"You wanted to use him to duplicate my power," I said furiously. "And when he failed, you thought of no more use of him? If you wanted my power so badly then why did you inflict this damned scar upon me? It stifles everything I could do."

The ghost of a smile played at his flips. "Come," he said, and vanished into the shadows. I growled and followed.

As we slunk through the dead forest, I saw a raven perched atop the limb of a white tree. He cocked his head at me, and I thought about how I must look. From afar one may even have mistaken me for Thuringwethil, seeing the long black cloak and my dark hair, although my wings were more eagle-like than bat-like.

He halted before a small garden of queer plants, and waited until I stood adjacent to him, gazing at the flora. Some of them produced faint glows in the moonlight and some entwined themselves up trees as a creeper. Others were swaying side to side, but from the wind or by their own will I did not know.

I turned to him for an answer, but he only drifted past me to the wall-climbing vine. The plant itself was the shade of the darkest green, and even as I looked, there were large drooping flowers with petals of black dangling from the vine. It was then I realized that a dark, viscous substance like tar was dripping from the largest flowers. He lifted his fingers to it, but when they fell towards his hand, he suspended them in a sphere of darkness above this palm.

"I call it Ungolócë, Serpent in the Shadows," Mairon whispered. "One touch of this bane is lethal. The victim, once infected, will grow increasingly weaker, along with the occasional trouble of seizures. An Atani may perish quickly under its spell, but an Elda. . ." He turned to me. "I haven't waited long enough to know. Perhaps there may be a prolonged, bitter death in the end, or perhaps the end will never come. Oh, and," he drawled, letting the ungolócë plummet to the ground like a drop of blood, "the energy that leaks from the victim goes to the inflicter. How amusing that is, isn't it?"

I kept my expression stony and steely and lifted my chin to meet his glittering eyes even as the poison in me throbbed and threatened something perilous. "You can extract the poison from me," I said.

"For a few hours, maybe," he said, brushing a fingers along one dark petal. "Yet I cannot extract it, as you say, but can merely. . .suspend it. It is entwined in your blood already. There is no halting its endeavour."

"You mean to kill then then," I said softly.

"Dear Híthriel, child, you cannot die. You are of the blood of the Eldar and the Maiar," he chided.

Of course I could die. "What are you talking about?"

"Your hröa may, but not your fëa," he said. He was watching my expression very carefully, nothing every blink, every twitch, every shift.

"Are you offering me a new hröa?" I said, slowly—uncertainly.

The answer glinted in his eyes.

At length I spoke again. "If this is what you want, then why send me to the mines?"

"Melkor ordered that to be done," he told me. "I objected. He thought it would teach you obedience. But when I propose this idea, he approved. He is quite eager to complete the ruin of Beleriand indeed. It is always I that must restrain him from acting too swiftly."

"What kind of hröa is this going to be?" I said.

"A more powerful one," he answered simply.

I opened my mouth, but I had no words to say.

He smiled then, and sidled closer to me. "Don't you want to be free again? To fly in the winds you once did, feeling all the mists in the air?" he breathed in my ear, brushing back a wisp of my hair.

A shiver went up my spine at the sound of it.

"Tempting, is it not? In this hröa you are no more than a cripple, a whore," he murmured. I tensed and he laughed softly. "I think I'll give you some time to consider my offer." He stepped away from me and held out his hand. "Come. I should take you back to your hold before it gets too light."

I looked at the hand, afraid, then took it. His hand was warm against my cold fingers, and he was still smiling as I did so.

"Very good, my precious yendë," he whispered, just like the night I had killed Mirnetyo.

* * *

There was an ellon I had met in the mines once, before the overseer slit his throat for dropping a coal outside the fire. He was a Sinda, yet he did not regard me and the other Noldor with contempt like most Sindar did. When the working day was over, I would always see him fingering something in his hand as the other Eldar lined up for a meager supper of a sweet potato. I usually waited until the end to retrieve food; it was better to avoid the others and thus avoid the strife. I suspected this ellon did for the same reason.

"What is that, in your hand?" I asked one night. The tunnel was unoccupied save for us.

He darted a quick glance at me then promptly turned back. "It was a gift," he told me, "from my mother, before she was taken by the Bragollach."

He held the pendant up for me to see. It was a simple jade green stone, and reminded me much of the silver stone I had given to my mother as a little girl. Of course, she had given it back and later made it into a necklace for me. On the stone she had engraved my Quenya name, and when she was finished, she pressed it into my palm.

"Just for you," she whispered, and spoke the name on the stone like a prayer, like a blessing.

But I had lost that silver stone long ago, in a place that I did not know, and sometimes when I dreamed of the moon and the sea I would hold aloft the stone from the water. Yet when I did, and tried to read the name on the stone, the letters had faded from its many years lost in the water.

I smiled faintly at the ellon, who had glanced at me in my reverie as I was lost in a fleeting memory. The past I had forsaken until this moment. I had nothing to reminisce about my mother and the cottage by the seashore; I had only memory.

"Are you all right?" the ellon asked.

"Yes," I said. "It's just. . .I remembered something I thought I had long forgotten. I think I should thank you for that." At the words, he lifted his eyes to mine, almost incredulously, then quickly dropped his gaze again.

He died in the next fortnight, and I never knew his name.

Now I was sitting in the same spot in the tunnel, except the Sinda was dead and his name was forsaken. The night was growing ever colder and the hour was late, yet I desired to find no rest in these tunnels. Saerin was awake as well, and Silivros slept between us on his side with his hair covering his face like he always did.

"Mairon gave you that cloak, didn't he?" Saerin said casually without looking at me.

"Yes," I said. "Perchance he has finally figured that tying rags around an elleth's breasts and hips aren't called clothes."

Saerin barked a sharp, spiteful laugh.

"I do not dare bring it anywhere else other than here, though," I told him. "It is likely the others would gladly steal it off me."

He did not laugh this time. "What did he want from you?"

"That is, in fact, the problem," I said. "Saerin, we need to get out of here."

"You need to get out," Saerin said. "Or else he'll turn you into a massive killing machine that will destroy us all, isn't that right?"

"Exactly what I said."

"Who?" he inquired.

"You, him—" I pointed to Silivros— "Gelmir, and me."

The absence of Isilmë hung between us like a spectre.

"How," he said, a little more softly than before.

"The tunnels," I told him. "The orcs don't know of the ones that delve the deepest, darkest, into the shadows."

Still the look in his eyes was uncertain, afraid. "So be it."

* * *

The day dawned dark and enveloped in shadow, as any day in the mines of Angband. Yet one thing had changed; Saerin, Silivros, Gelmir, and I poised ourselves to escape the prison we had been doomed to die in. By secret tunnels known only to ourselves the mining Eldalië might sometimes escape, for the orcs were much too ridiculous to know them. In that fashion we escaped the mines, but in the process the orcs somehow found us and came after us with whips and arrows.

I thought I had finally done a good deed and planted a seed of hope in the hearts of my friends, yet hope is oft placed in the well of damnation. Saerin, Silivros, and I managed to get out, although Saerin lost a few fingers. Gelmir didn't make it.

I didn't ever know him that well, for I spoke mostly with Silivros, but the failure shattered my heart like unyielding shards of ice, like daggers upon glass. I had doomed him to the worst curse he could ever receive; the curse of the chastisement for deserting would be endless hell. It would be unbearable.

Somehow, even after everything, Silivros still wanted to return to his homeland in Doriath; I could understand him, for he was still young and clung onto hope, holding it tightly like how a human child would clutch to their doll at the darkest hour of night. Nonetheless, Saerin desired to go to Himring, so I showed him the way. It was the refuge for many that had suffered in the hands of the forsaken.

* * *

 _Himlad, 463_

The night was threateningly cold and yet we dared light no fires. Saerin and I sat a good distance apart, but close enough to speak soft words and hear movement in the case of a sudden absence. A week before, which was six days ago, we had accompanied Silivros back to Doriath, and parted at the borders of the Girdle. We had followed the River Celon north to Himring, and passed through Himlad. I was thinking of taking refuge in the city when I remembered that the country of Tyelko and Curvo had fallen in the Bragollach and was no more.

"I never knew the moon could be so cold and the stars so distant." My voice sounded hollow, melancholy. I was still wearing the cloak Mairon had given me, although I hated the feel of it.

"The fog is rising," Saerin told me. "They will be veiled soon, and perhaps it might even snow."

"And perhaps after that it might rain," I said quietly.

"It is possible," Saerin murmured, then repeated it more softly. "It is possible."

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Hröa._ (Q) Physical body, plural _hröar._

 _Fëa._ (Q) Spirit, soul, plural _fëar_.

 _Yendë._ (Q) Daughter.


	20. Chapter XIX

CHAPTER XIX

* * *

 _Himring, 463_

Winter had never seemed as cold and bitter as it did now. I stood before the frozen River Celon, the wind whipping the snow alight into a storm so fierce that I could barely see the river before me. My cloak hardly seemed to keep out the chill, but I bit down the piercing cold and savored the bitterness of it in my body.

"I know you're there," I said.

Mae came slowly, uncertainly to me, and stood beside me. I did not turn to look at him, but I could feel his eyes searching for me. He slid his arm around my waist but I pushed him away.

"Don't," I said. "I don't want this anymore."

He stepped back, the truth dawning upon his face as he descried the scar upon my face.

"Mae. You have to promise me something."

He neither refused nor gave his approval.

"If anything like this ever happens again," I forced myself to look at him to show how desperate I was, that he had to do this, that I could not take this, "May the swift point of your sword be my end."

He was shaking just as much as I was—but with pain and fierce anger. "I could not. No, I could never." When our eyes met I saw the fire leaping, burning, roaring within him. "How could he do this to you?"

I could give him no answer. Only silence.

His voice was deathly quiet when he spoke again. "Káno thought you were dead."

"Did you, too?" I said softly.

I heard his sharp intake of breath even in the howling gale. "Yes," he said at last, bowing his head. "Yes."

"So did I." The words were hardly heard; so small, so insignificant in the vast Eä.

The boulder beside the river before me was bare of snow, the gale blew so steadily that none could settle on its surface. The wind and the cold were stinging my face now, but I savored it, bit it down, embraced it. So I stood there, not thinking particularly about anything—merely tasting the bitter emotions on my tongue. The cold was never so raw and welcoming in Angband.

But then a jolt shuddered through my body and I lurched forward, suddenly gasping for air. Shit. The scar. The stupid fucking scar. The pain ebbed and a rattling breath shuddered out of my mouth, making a short-lived cloud.

"Híthriel?" Maedhros was saying, anxious and troubled. "Hith, you're wounded." He was being very careful to not touch me.

"Nothing you can fix," I hissed as another tremor shook through me. "Nothing anyone can fix." Gritting my teeth, I clutched at my chest, but a more violent one pierced through and I thudded to my knees, which sank into the deep snow. It wasn't supposed to be like that, I thought, panic taking over. It wasn't supposed to do that—

A cry burst from my lips then. Mae lifted me in his arms even as I whispered, no, no. My head was exploding with pain and the things around me were like blurred illusions. Mae was murmuring soft words of reassurance but I barely heard them.

". . .Káno will have something for this. . .he can fix this up for you. . .and Telvo's here too, visiting. . .Curvo and Tyelko are still in Nargothrond. . .and Moryo's in Thargelion, as always. . ."

As he hastened back to Himring, my fëa seemed to stray away from my hröa, just for a little bit; I was tired of this hröa, this pain, this torment, and through my fëa, I saw myself hanging limply from his arms. I could have been dead.

Later my fëa returned to my hröa. I awoke seized with a sudden dismay, my eyes wide with fear and terror. I was sprawled on Káno's bed, my blood seeping onto the mattress, the sheets. Mae and Káno were hurrying about, preparing ointments and bindings.

Mae knelt over by me. "Can you roll over onto your side so we can check the lashings on your back?"

It's not that, it's not that, I wanted to say, but I complied although my breath still came out shakily. I couldn't see him as he peeled the bloodied garments off my back, so I grasped the blankets and balled my hands into fists, reminding myself that this was real, not an illusion of Mairon's not an illusion, not an illusion—

Mae put a hand on my arm. "Hith, breathe. Breathe." I clawed for a hissing gulp of air, trying to calm myself.

"This is going to sting a little," Káno murmured from behind. I gritted my teeth; I hated it when I couldn't see. It hurt a little more than a mere sting, and I muffled my cries in the blankets. At last, when it was over, I heard the door crack open and Káno's wearied voice.

"Telvo, come help me with this," he said as he threw the bloodstained binding onto the floor.

Mae helped me back on my back and tugged gently on the blankets I was holding to my chest, soaked with scarlet.

"No, no. Don't make me do this," I said, my eyes beseeching and desperate.

"Hith," he said softly. "You'll bleed out."

Slowly, reluctantly, I let my hands fall.

Káno inspected the arrow wound at my shoulder, where the shaft had gone through the scar. "Who took it out?" he said, meaning the arrow.

"I did," I told him, but when he reached to feel the wound, I stopped him. "No. Don't touch it."

"It's bleeding and undressed," Káno said. "It'll get infected. It likely already is."

"No, Káno, I swear. Don't touch it," I growled.

"I have to draw the poison out," Káno said, and when I shook my head again, he looked up in seeming defeat, yet not at his two brothers glancing at him. He sighed and looked down, then shook his head. "Hold her down," he said to Maedhros and Telufinwë.

"No," I breathed. "Káno, you can't!"

But they complied and held me down as Kanafinwë drew out the white cloth. Telvo looked half frightened that my power was going to suddenly burst forth, but I knew they were only ashes now. I was only ashes now, only a shadow of the glowing hearth I had been before. Káno had barely even touched it and I was screaming, cursing for them to stop, yet his countenance only hardened.

When it was all over, Telvo let go and backed away quickly.

I threw Maedhros's hand off, shrinking away. "Get away from me, you dreadful monster," I hissed. "How dare you hold me against my will."

A faint glint of hurt flickered in his eyes, then there was only sorrow and solicitude on his face as I turned away, my eyes staring glossily to nothing.

* * *

The next time I awoke, everything seemed like an illusion. In truth I could still barely see; it was all only blurred shapes and outlines in the darkness.

"Breathe, Híthriel, breathe," a voice murmured. "Relax. You're in Himring now."

My eyes flickered and slowly cleared, to see Telvo bending over me. Immediately he drew back and seated himself back in his cushioned chair. I was back in my room, my bindings freshly changed and the scar throbbing faintly.

"Thank you, Telvo," I whispered.

He did not reply for a while and buried his face in his hands.

"Is everything all right?" I asked.

Telvo barked a sharp laugh. "Of course it isn't all right. Your heart stopped beating for a few minutes yesterday. Nelyo panicked. I've never seen him like that before."

I closed my eyes briefly. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't say that," Telvo muttered. "You've been through too much."

"So have you," I said.

He glanced at me then turned away. "I've been thinking," he began. "I've been thinking about Pityo." Stopping abruptly, he loosed a breath.

"Go on," I encouraged.

"When he. . .when he died," Telvo said, "I wondered if I was still a twin. Still a brother. I feel like I did it to him. He wouldn't even tell me he was—that he greatly opposed what our father was doing after Alqualondë and Lammoth. He just told me he was uncomfortable sleeping on the ground and went back to the ships, meaning to sail away. He didn't trust me anymore; he didn't trust any of us anymore." He drew in a breath shakily. "Us, as Fëanorians, we're called murderers, kinslayers, usurpers. Is it worth it, to fulfill the Oath?"

My eyes shuttered as the light in them dimmed. "I'm a kinslayer too, now."

He didn't ask what I meant by that.

* * *

I turned from my place at the window as Mae entered my chambers with a bowl of salve in his hand. He was wearing olive green, the color of regeneration, of renewal.

"Káno told me to put this onto the wounds on your back," he told me. "He thought you would be more comfortable if I did it rather than anyone else."

I dipped my head a little. "Thank you." I leaned my head down against my desk and felt his fingers search the tattered wounds on my back.

"I'm sorry for what I said yesterday," I told Mae.

He smiled faintly at me. "I don't remember what you said."

"What I called you. A dreadful monster," I said. "It's just. . .he—Sauron—he would shift into you, sometimes, and. . .would do terrible things."

His eyes darkened. "It's all right. When I was there. . .he shifted into Findekáno, when he wanted to break me. I did the same as you to Finno, until I realized."

"Thank you," I murmured. "Thank you for understanding."

There was a quiet moment then abruptly I stayed his hand as he made to slip the dress back over my shoulders. "Wait," I said softly. "I want to see what it looks like."

He nodded subtly and helped me to the mirror. I flinched when I saw my face; it didn't look like me anymore, not with the frightening scar that stretched across the right side of my face from the top of my brow to my jawline, not with the streaks of silver in my hair, not with the distant, desolate look in my eyes. The ungolócë poisoned scar was terrifying to look at, I saw, as I traced my fingers along it. I turned slowly to see the whip lashes on my back and regretting it, turned away. I made my way back to the window where Mae was sitting, waiting for me.

He sighed, turning his face to the window. "It's beautiful outside, isn't it?" This morning the sun had broken through the clouds at last and the snow was melting bit by bit.

"Yes," I said, my voice breaking. I hadn't seen the sun in years. "It's so beautiful." I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore.


	21. Part Four: Chapter XX

CHAPTER XX

* * *

— _A fortnight later—_

It was dinner, and Mae was chewing his bread very carefully as Káno blearily prodded at his salmon while Telvo merely stared at his spinach very angrily. I, for my part, was savoring the taste of real food in my mouth and wondering how Mae could be so good at making noodles.

"So, um." Káno cleared his throat and jerked his chin at Mae, who didn't turn from his bread.

"Barahir is dead," Mae said flippantly.

My brows furrowed. "Oh."

"Barahir, Gildor, Belegund, Baragund, Urthel, Dagnir, Radhruin, Dairuin, Arthad, and Hathaldir," Telvo said. "And Gorlim. Tarn Aeluin. Sauron's doing."

"The last of the House of Bëor," I murmured. "Beren?"

"Alive, as far as we know," Mae said. "But we do not know where."

"And last year Morgoth tried to assault Hithlum, but Findekáno and Círdan withstood them. Now Húrin Thalion is the third Lord of Dor-lómin," Káno told me.

"We also made some new allies," Mae said carefully. "The humans. Easterlings, actually."

"Just recently this year," Káno added.

"The House of Bór and the House of Ulfang," Telvo said, still watching his spinach.

"And Minas Tirith isn't a thing now," Káno said. "Sauron took the island and renamed it Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Tol Sirion is no longer safe."

"The year after the war Finno sent his son to Círdan at the Falas," Mae said. "It should be safer there. We don't know how long the realms can hold out. Dorthonion has already been overrun. We now call it Taur-na-Fuin, Forest Under Nightshade."

I nodded slowly. "Thank you for the seven year update." I noticed that Mae stiffened for a moment then regained his composure again. Káno nearly stabbed his tongue with this fork but Telvo continued to watch his spinach.

* * *

 _Himring, 466_

In the past few years I had taken to learning the lore of healing and the arts. In Hithlum I had learned to dance and to sing like most Elda did, and when I came to Himring, Káno taught me the art of music and I began to compose. Briefly in Menegroth I had learned the former with Artanis and Melyanna, yet only using the abilities inherited from my Maia blood, and now they were all ashes left in the dust. If I tried, it would only bring pain forth from the scar and every day my hröa grew weaker, until I was little more than a cripple. I thought of Mae when the word first drifted to me, and remembered when I had heard some ellyn chattering about him when I was still but a young elleth. Those days in Aman, no Elda was born deformed; demoralized, they called it. Maedhros was the first, and now I was one. But perhaps if I tried hard enough I could conceal it so that it would only come forth when I was alone.

My hand paused from the _glissando_ I had just written down on the staff as a raven perched onto my windowsill, a letter tied to a leg. Leaning forward, I untied the letter as the raven lifted up his leg.

" _Hello_ ," the raven cackled.

I smiled politely at the raven. "Hello," I replied.

The raven looked very pleased with himself, shrieking, " _Hello, hello, hello!_ " so I gave him a carrot.

As the raven pecked at the carrot, I opened the letter to Mae's elegant script. _Someone's here to see you ;)_ , he had written. I had no clue what was with the winky face, but I didn't think he was expecting a reply. The raven was still busy attacking the carrot with his beak and since he seemed to be having some difficulty, I minced it into pieces for him. It was then as the raven was delightfully nibbling away at the diced carrot that there came a light knock at the door. Still grinning at the adorableness of the raven, I got up and went over to the door, opening it slight. Instantly I recognized the face, the cerulean eyes, the raven-dark hair.

"Finno," I whispered, and threw myself into his arms. I wanted to feel like a little child again as I remembered finally feeling comfort, security that day in Lammoth. I breathed in his scent, the scent of Hithlum, my past home; even now a part of me wished to return and relive the old days again. Tear unlooked for tumbled from my tightly closed eyes onto his shoulder.

"It's all right now," Finno murmured.

I broke away from the embrace abruptly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Don't blame yourself," he told me. "It's all right now."

Behind Finno, Mae was looking down. I returned my gaze to meet Finno's eyes. "I missed you, Finno." I opened my door wider. "Please, come in."

"I missed you too, titta nettë," Finno said smiling, and batted my hair lightly as he waltzed into my chambers. "You have streaks of silver in your hair now."

I dipped my head, averting my eyes. "The years were long and numberless."

"It looks stylish," Finno commented. "I like it."

Turning away, I began rushing to prepare tea. "I had no idea you were coming—"

"Ahem," Mae said.

"You want to see how specific he was?" I snatched up the note and shoved it in Finno's face as Mae rolled his eyes.

" _You wanna see? You wanna see?_ " the raven cawed.

"'Someone's here to see you'. And what the hell is with the winky face, Mae?" I demanded.

"Oh, hello, Aiwë," Mae greeted the raven.

"Language," Finno warned, ignoring Mae. "Why are you so pissy today? Did you forget to pay your rent?"

I nearly spilled the tea on the table at Finno's words. " _You're_ pissy."

" _Hello! Hello! Hello!_ " Aiwë the raven was screeching, and I wondered by Mae had named a raven 'little bird'.

"I have an excuse. I just came from a nine day journey on horseback from Hísilómë," Finno retorted.

I huffed as Mae laughed silently in the background. "Alone? Isn't that dangerous?"

"Upon his arrival to Hithlum he will be surrounded by a jolly escort party of mine," Mae said. "And you cannot refuse that, my dear cousin."

"What if I command you not to, as High King of the Noldor?" Finno said, playing along and lifting his chin. I was taken aback; I had forgotten that Finno was now High King of the Noldor, after Ñolofinwë's death. Finno chuckled at my reaction. "Yes, unfortunately that is my new title now."

"Sounds prestigious," Mae said. "But if you do happen to command me not to, I may be starting to wonder if I should have handed the crown over to your House."

Finno scoffed. "Well, you can't take it back now."

"Can I?" Mae challenged.

"But then I would have to call you a traitor and execute you," Finno pouted. "I wouldn't want to do that."

" _Execute you! Execute you!_ " Aiwë the raven chanted.

"See, even the bird wants to," Finno said.

"His name is Aiwë!" Mae complained.

This entire ridiculous exchange I had been studying Finno's countenance and I could see that he was concealing something beneath the words of jest. "You came with tidings?" I said.

Finno turned to me, jolted with surprise. "I came to see you, and Nelyo, and. . .yes, tidings, if you may call it that."

Mae was rubbing the stump of his right wrist absently as I looked up at Finno, who turned to the table, skittishly studying the patterns of wood.

"Well?" I said.

"I take it that Tyelko and Curvo have not yet arrived in Himring?" Finno flicked his eyes to Mae.

"No, they have not," Mae said quietly.

" _They have not, they have not, they have not_ ," Aiwë the raven said.

"They have left Nargothrond?" I asked.

Finno chewed his lip. "Banished, to be exact. By the King of Nargothrond."

"Findaráto?" I said blankly.

"No," Finno said. "Artaresto."

"What happened to Findaráto?" I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mae look down again.

"Findaráto and ten others of Nargothrond have perished in Tol-in-Gaurhoth," Finno said, lowering his head.

The brightly shining sun seemed like a ridiculing curse to the words that had just been processed in my mind.

Findaráto was dead.

He was dead. How could it be? Findaráto, whom I had known for so long. . .

My mouth tried to form words but failed. Finno answered it for me.

"He died in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth protecting Beren, son of Barahir, lover of Lúthien. Thingol sent Beren on a Quest to win a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown, and in turn, he would be permitted to be with Lúthien. But when Beren sought Findaráto's aid, they were captured trying to cross the western pass between Ered Wethrin and the highlands of Taur-nu-Fuin."

At the mention of a Silmaril, Mae stiffened. Finno put a hand on my arm, as if to comfort, and I realized that I was shaking. At last I lifted my head and stared straight at him, the question brimming in my eyes.

Finno sighed. "Yes. Yes, it was Sauron's doing."

" _Sauron's doing, Sauron's doing, Sauron's doing_ ," the raven cackled.

"Shut _up_!" I shrieked, and hurled a fork to the sound of the words. It struck the windowsill right by Aiwë the raven's head, who jerked aside.

" _Shut up, shut up, shut up!_ " the raven sang.

"Aiwë," Mae said quietly, and the squawks immediately ceased.

The silence seemed so empty, so dead to my ears.

"What of the Silmarils?" Maedhros said.

"You Fëanorians and your valardamned Silmarils!" I shouted. "Findaráto is _dead_ because of them!" In my mind flashed the moment that Morgoth had ordered that ellon to be killed, the Silmarils glinting from his ebony crown.

Mae looked at me and said nothing.

Finno drew in a quiet breath. "The Nauglamír now bears the Silmaril rescued by Beren from the Iron Crown and is in Doriath. Which is why I asked if Curvo and Tyelko had come this way. When Lúthien went to Nargothrond, seeking help, they betrayed her but Huan helped her escape. Then later when they were banished from the realm, accused of bringing their King to his death, they tried to kill Beren. Now I think they may be coming this way."

"Tyelpe?" I said.

"Nargothrond," Finno said simply.

* * *

"What is the meaning of this mischief," I said to Mae, who had come into my chambers as I was writing on the balcony and eavesdropped on my angsty poetry.

"A patrol just spotted Tyelko and Curvo coming from the Pass of Aglon. They seem to be heading here," he said.

"Hm." I was seemingly indifferent. "Am I permitted to join you and 'greet' them?"

"You know, I was planning just that. Just try not to throw any sharp things at them."

"I know what to throw at them," I said.

We rode from Himring at a light gait, going west through the March. I hid in the tree right above where Mae stood with his arms crossed in the middle of the road. Tyelko and Curvo halted in front of him, for some reason both sitting on one horse.

Tyelko slipped off the horse first and approached Mae. "Greetings, brother, and well met—"

Curvo cleared his throat. "Enough of the niceties. Nelyo, we need a place to squat for now and you really have no right to refuse because we're broke. Some girl stole my horse and then her boyfriend tried to kill me and Tyelko. Then Thingol probably wants to kill us too—"

"And her boyfriend stole my horse!"

"And my son doesn't want to be my son anymore!"

"We're homeless, Nelyo!"

Mae's expression hadn't changed. "I see. How was Nargothrond?"

"What?" Curvo was confused.

" _That_ was Nargothrond," Tyelko said.

Lounging on the tree above, I dropped the apple core on Tyelko's head and he yelped. "Where's your dog, Tyelko?"

"He ran away from me because he _hates_ me, like how Tyelpe hates his father!"

" _I_ am his father," Curvo supplied.

I shook my head. "You children are _despicable_."

"Children? You were—" Curvo started.

I cut him off. "Don't try acting innocent to me. I know what you tried to do to Lúthien. I know what you _did_ to Findaráto."

"What are you talking about," he breathed.

I sprang off the branch of the tree and landed directly in front of him. "Don't you _dare_ lie again. You deceived Lúthien when you brought her to Nargothrond then you tried to fuck her, didn't you?"

"What? I did—"

"Do not deny it, Curufinwë," I drawled, the words a curse. "Because after that you decided that you could _kill_ Findaráto and take the valadamned throne. Now he's dead and you nearly succeeded. I don't understand _how you could murder Findaráto in cold blood_? Your own cousin? You knew what good friends Nelyo and Káno and I were with him. How could you become so terrible? I used to _know_ you!"

"Enough," Mae said, holding up a hand, right as my blade rung as it was unsheathed. I stepped back slowly, cautiously and Curvo held his hands up in submission. "Tyelkormo, Curufinwë, you are not welcome in Himring. Leave this land or you will be forced."

"Nelyo. . ." Curvo said, pained.

Tyelko huffed and leaped back on the horse. "Come on, brother."

Curvo turned away and took his brother's hand. Mae and I watched as they rode away.

"Where are they going?" I said. It wasn't entirely a question.

"Thargelion," Mae said. "And they'll no doubt be housed there."

"You think?"

"I hope." He turned to me. "They're still my little brothers."


	22. Chapter XXI

CHAPTER XXI

* * *

Finno didn't turn from his papers as I seated myself silently across from him at a patio overlooking the March and the western lands. This morning he had let his hair down and he was wearing cerulean garments that matched the shade of his eyes. "How was it?" he inquired.

I studied his expression for a moment, then turned back to the hills. "I don't know."

"Hm," Finno said. "You sent them away?"

"I don't think I would have to authority to do that," I said with a disdainful smile, "but Nelyo did. They're off to Thargelion now."

"I see." Finno put his pen down and put the paper on a stack beside him.

We were both silent for a moment as Finno shuffled his papers and I stared vacantly towards Dorthonion, the land that was now called Taur-nu-Fuin, Forest Under Nightshade, for in the Bragollach it had been overrun by the armies of Morgoth. Only Orcs lived there now; Orcs and other twisted creatures of darkness.

"You know," Finno began, "Rochallor died of grief when he came back to Hísilómë."

I didn't turn, and nor did my expression shift.

"He was a fast horse. The fastest I've ever known. The only one I've known to outrun a pack of Wargs at that distance. He loved apples. All of the other horses wanted sugar cubes but he wanted apples."

Still I said nothing, but Finno went on.

"He was one of the only horses to make it across the Helcaraxë," Finno told me. "Atto. . .he gave him his cloak at one point." He paused. "Sometimes I think you would have enjoyed meeting Fëanáro. He and atto were ridiculous around each other. They always ended up breaking something."

A corner of my mouth jerked upward in a fleeting smile.

"Do you remember how you first met our atto?" Finno asked. "I was introducing you to Irissë, and I said, 'Look, here is your new little sister', and atto waltzed in, saying, 'Findekáno, what are you talking about, I didn't cheat on Anairë!' Then he saw you and said, 'Oh my Varda, I lied. I would cheat on Anairë for her.'"

I smiled then. "Yes, I remember," and Finno laughed.

"And remember when you were ten and you told me you wanted to be the greatest warrior of Hísilómë, he slapped your ass and said, 'Well you're not doing a very good job at it.' Then he told me to chase you around the fountain to build your endurance."

"I didn't want to, so I dunked both of you in the fountain," I said. "And Laurefindil came to call ato to a council meeting but I ended up getting him wet too."

"Oh, you were a naughty little child," Finno said, chuckling.

"Atto didn't seem to think so," I complained. "He told me I was the most well behaved child out of all of you."

"Really?" Finno said, pretending to be hurt. "Even that time you flipped the boat on purpose because it was funny?"

I rolled my eyes. "Lake Mithrim isn't _that_ deep. Besides, the rowboat was already wet because _someone_ left it out in the rain." I snuffled, suddenly realizing that there were tears sliding down my face and Finno's too. I hastily wiped them away but Finno didn't bother.

"Why are you crying?" he said playfully.

"Why are _you_ crying?" I accused.

He smiled a little. "Come here, titta nettë," he said softly and I threw my arms around him, letting the tears fall freely from my face.

"Why did he do it?" I whispered. " _Why_ did he do it?"

"Maybe he thought he could make a difference," Finno murmured, "and I think he did. The hearts of the Eldar are moved by his actions, and hope is renewed, for now they know Morgoth Bauglir is not indestructible. We can bring him down together."

"You wouldn't know," I breathed. "You have never once stood before his shadow, trembling and at his mercy."

"No," he said quietly, "but I can feel it from you."

* * *

 _Himring, 467_

"Something's on your mind," I said to Mae, who was pouring himself a cup of tea. "It's not every day one treats another to dinner in a fancy restaurant, even if they are Lord of the city."

"What if I was High King?" he said jokingly. "Would it have been any different then?"

"Well, you _were_ High King," I teased, "for twenty years."

He huffed. "That doesn't count. I didn't do anything. And I was never officially crowned. I wonder how angry my father would be if he knew I handed the crown off to Nolo."

"Very, I would expect," I said. "Naming you Nelyafinwë and all." I frowned. "Why do you keep switching back and forth from Quenya and Sindarin? Now _I'm_ doing it too and it sounds so ridiculous."

"I really don't know," he told me. "I hope it's not too much of a problem."

I studied his face closely. "You're trying to delay yourself, it's obvious. Won't you tell me what's on your mind? It seems to really be bothering you."

"You always know when something's different," he said. "I feel like you're reading my mind."

"Well," I said slowly, "I can feel the energy when it shifts."

"I thought—"

"Mae," I interrupted, "you're doing it again."

"Am I?" he said breezily. "Oh look, the food is here."

The entire time the waitress was setting down the food I was glaring at Mae, not even bothering to play the niceties.

"Enjoy," the waitress said as she departed, and Mae nodded and smiled at her politely. He began to rummage everything around the table in a very neat manner and finished pouring the tea in both of our cups. He folded two cloths neatly and handed one to me.

I took it plainly. "I will."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing; I was merely replying to the waitress' statement," I told him, narrowing my eyes. "I will very certainly enjoy this meal."

"For that I am glad." He picked up his fork and we ate in silence.

"I didn't mean it about the Silmarils," I said after a while. "Even if you did send that letter to Thingol."

He didn't look up. "Then what did you mean?"

"I didn't mean that. . ." I sighed. "That Findaráto is dead because of them. I was just angry."

"What were you angry about?" he said quietly.

I stabbed at a piece of lettuce. "I don't want to talk about this." He was staring into his food when I looked up. "But," I said, leaning forward and reaching out my hand, "I can show you."

Mae glanced at the hand on his arm as I looked to his eyes for approval. He gave me a slight nod and I remembered the moment, projecting it into his mind, my eyes going unfocused and glazed.

"I will not," I had said, trying to make my voice sound defiant although I felt like a sheep amongst a pack of wolves. Morgoth was towering before me and Mairon held the ellon with a short knife pressed to his neck. Mirnetyo was standing behind me; I could feel it, and I could feel his uncertainty and slight trace of fear.

Morgoth had turned from me, pacing around the chamber at a leisurely gait. "He is called Istel," he had said, jerking his chin at the ellon. "He has a wife and two children. Are you sure you don't want to tell me?"

I had been trembling, but I could not bring myself to say anything.

"All right then," Morgoth had said softly. "Mairon, if you please."

"At your will, my Lord Melkor."

It had all happened so suddenly. The moment before the ellon had been alive and the moment later Mairon had slit his throat and he was choking on his own blood. Mairon had released him and let him fall to the ground. By that time he was already dead. It was when I heard the terrible, horrifying, unearthly sound screaming, shrieking—then I realized that the sound was me.

I let the vision slip away and upon seeing Mae's hazel eyes before me, turned away. My chest was heaving and the scar was hurting but I ignored it all.

"That and Findaráto," I whispered, "was what I was angry about." And when I looked at him, I knew that he knew. "Finno told me that Nolofinwë's sacrifice proved that Morgoth is not indestructible."

"So did Beren and Lúthien," he said. "That was what I was going to tell you. I want to create an union that unites all the free peoples of Beleriand and destroy Morgoth once and for all."

I looked at him in wonder. "I did not expect that."

"Really?" he said, eyes twinkling. "It's been on my mind for a while now, but I suppose now that we should finally begin."

"I think," I began slowly, "I rather like the sound of that idea."

He smiled. "Good."

* * *

It was known afterwards as the Union of Maedhros. For five years we gathered the free peoples of Middle-earth to take their last stand against Morgoth. Yet the oath of Fëanor and the evil deeds that it had wrought did injury to the design, and we had less aid than should have been. Mae led the eastern army and Finno the western one. The new allies Mae and Telvo had been speaking about were the Easterlings, and we had two hosts of them in the eastern army: the Easterlings led by Bór under the service of Mae and those led by Ulfang under the service of Moryo. From the Naugrim of Belegost and Nogrod we also had aid; Azaghâl and Mae were old friends from before. While traveling on the Dwarf-road in Beleriand, Azaghâl had been waylaid by Orcs, and Mae had come and saved his life. In turn, Azaghâl gave him friendship and his helm.

"Azaghâl will be coming in a few days for the council meeting," Mae told me as I sauntered into the library.

"Are you sure he's coming for that, or because he's disappointed that you gave his precious helm away to Finno?" I teased.

He made a face at me. "Why would he be disappointed at me for gift-giving? It's a good thing to do."

"All right then, have it your way," I said, smiling discreetly into my book.

"Ahem," he said, and turned back to scribbling angry letters to Artaresto, for he would not march forth at the word of any son of Fëanor, because of what Tyelko and Curvo had done. I looked over his shoulder to see what was on the letter.

 _Anyhow_ , Artaresto had written, _my people of Nargothrond trust still to defend our hidden stronghold by secrecy and stealth, dear cousin._

I laughed aloud upon reading Artaresto's idiotic sounding words and grabbed one of Mae's crumpled up papers. "Listen here, you imbecilic son of an imbecile," I read. "Tyelko and Curvo are immature punks but seriously we need as much help as we can get, don't be a fucking idiot. You used to be my favorite cousin. Literally you are so dumb." I gawked at him. "You wrote that? Are you drunk? You _never_ do that!"

Mae grinned sheepishly at me. "Okay, that was my first draft. There's a reason it's crumpled up."

But Gwindor son of Guilin came against the will of Artaresto with a small company and marched beneath the banners of Fingon. It was said that he came because he grieved for the loss of Gelmir his brother in the Dagor Bragollach, and I sighed when I heard this, trying to bring my mind away from the thought.

There was a time when Finno came to Himring to speak of this matter, and he was telling us of the forces he had gathered. The western army consisted of the Noldor of Hithlum, Edain of Dor-lómin, Edain of Brethil, Gwindor and friends, some Falathrim, and. . .

"How many from Doriath?" Mae asked.

"I'm going to have you bet how many." Finno held a glass of Sindarin wine in his hand.

"Zero," I said.

"I'll give you a hint," Finno said. "Two—"

"Hundred?" Mae said hopefully.

"People," I finished at the exact same time Mae had spoken.

Finno handed the glass to me casually.

"What?" I blurted. "I was joking!"

Mae sighed and collapsed onto the couch.

"Are you going to write an angsty letter to Thingol now?" I said, as both Finno and I collapsed on the couch next to him.

"No," he said wearily. "It doesn't matter."

"Which two people?" I asked Finno.

"Mablung and Beleg," he told me.

"The only nice people in Doriath," Mae groaned.

"Hey! What about Artanis?" I complained.

"Unnph," Mae said.

Conveniently, Telvo came in the room and said that Tyelko and Curvo had "vowed openly to slay Thingol and destroy his people, if they came victorious from war, and the jewel were not surrendered of free will", quote Ælfwine.

I immediately got a headache and downed the entire glass of Sindarin wine and fainted.

At least the tidings also went to Gondolin, so perhaps they may come when the day dawns.


	23. Chapter XXII

Part Four: Of Wrath and of Ruin

* * *

CHAPTER XXII

* * *

 _Eithel Sirion & Anfauglith, 472_

Eithel Sirion was a beautiful place—the fortress Barad Eithel, encircled on all sides but one by the Ered Wethrin, reminded me of how Findekáno had described Eldamar to be. How beautiful, how pure the grass was, sparkling by the waters like emerald jewels. It made me think of Menegroth, the Thousand Caves, for they had walls scattered with so many scintillating jewels it seemed as if it was a beam of sunlight on a river at sunset. The river Sirion snaked through the paths by the teeming trees in the mountainside, the grey stones by the bank identical to the color of the fortress. The mountains of Ered Wethrin were so grand, so magnificent, its august stature calming and humbling me so I felt as small as a raindrop on a maple leaf.

I wondered how long her beauty would last.

Dawn had not yet come to pass but the procedures had already begun. People were moving as silhouettes along the fortress under the faint illumination of torches in the mist, distantly shouting commands and running drills. I was already dressed and my hair was done. I carried a long sword and a bow on my back along with a quiver full of arrows; at my hip there were two long sheathed knives. I ran my fingers over and over along the coarse wall of Barad Eithel as if I would never feel it again until I realized suddenly that someone was speaking to me. Turning around, I found Finno also dressed and ready.

"You're up early," he commented.

"So are you," I replied.

No more was said then, and I felt it not but I turned back to stare at Sirion and Ered Wethrin, appreciating her tranquility although the thoughts were not quite processing through my mind. There was a pass near Eithel Sirion where it has been told that Fëanor's fiery spirit consumed his body to ash, so that there was no body to bury, no tomb for the follied High King of the Noldor. I wondered how Mae felt at the sudden loss, the sudden change of his life. I wondered when he realized that the oath could not be broken, not by any spell nor any power in Arda, no matter how strong or how valiant one may be.

Finno took my hands in his and although I turned to face him, I refused to look up.

"You're afraid of my death," he said at last.

"Maybe." The voice came soft, weak, helpless.

"Don't be." He rubbed my hands in his own, letting the warmth seeping into my blood and warm my face like a fire. "Life and death is just like sleeping and waking. Death is nothing to fear—it is merely a time of rest. Then I will wake again, and there a new life will begin. You aren't afraid of sleeping, are you?"

I held his gaze but said nothing.

Someone called his name from behind, and he turned and said something in reply. I looked down at his brown combat boots, not thinking of anything in particular—it was all emotion, endless waves of emotion enveloping me in shadows. Turning back to me, he gave me a soft embrace then let go. My gaze was still cast downward as he walked away, saying, "Melinyel, titta nettë."

Eventually I made my way to the halls, and by the time I was prepared it was nearly dawn, and so I headed out to the fortress walls where the western part of the Union was already assembled. The host, arrayed in the valleys and the woods upon the east of Ered Wethrin, was well hid from the eyes of the Enemy. I came to Finno, standing proud and tall as a king of old like he was.

"Have you considered my offer?" he said lightly, almost jokingly, as if he already knew my response.

"No," I said, "I do not lead forces into battle. I am a wanderer from nowhere."

"Not from nowhere," Finno said, "from Hísilómë."

I did not reply to that for I feared what I would say, but I did not turn my gaze to look at him as I murmured, "If I—if they take me," came the distant, unfeeling voice, "you kill me. Don't let them take me back there. Not again."

I felt the threads of energy tighten around us but said naught more and positioned myself next to Beleg who smiled faintly at me as I came. I attempted a smile back but I don't know how it turned out—at least it wasn't so pathetic for him to laugh. And then we waited. A black cloud of smoke went up from Thangorodrim, and the shadow spread, inching ever closer to Eithel Sirion where we stood.

The morn dawned in hues of orange and gold as something massive came from the south. I inhaled, and as I looked sharper it became evident that it was not the host of the Enemy but one of Gondolin. The Hidden Kingdom had come unlooked for to our aid with an army ten thousand strong, with bright mail and long swords and spears like a forest.

At Gondolin's coming Findekáno drew his sword from its sheath, and holding it aloft he shouted aloud: "Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atantári, utúlie'n aurë!" The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come! Then in return all those who heart his great voice echo in the hills answered crying: "Auta i lómë!" The night is passing!

And far over the dust of Anfauglith the Enemy approached ever closer. The tremulous thumping of their hated feet shook the earth with every step of the dreaded march.

So many years, so many decades, so many centuries of fleeing, fighting, hiding and my heart was still pounding in my chest, the weight so deep the feeling got caught in my throat. I breathed through my nose and dared not open my mouth. I sucked the crisp air of dawn into my lungs and clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering, but from the cold or from fear I was yet to know.

The host of Yrch halted twenty-five leagues or so from the fortress but as I looked, there was movement through the mass of Yrch. My eyes followed the trail until it burst into the open before the army. The Eldalië next to me gasped as they beheld the sight. Every muscle in my body tensed; the knuckles on the hilt of the blade were white, and pale as the shadow of the cold moon, and the very air I inhaled had become a poisonous fume like the smoky ruins of a fire. I could not move—I could not breathe, I was utterly _trapped_ in a prison which I could not escape. . .

There being driven forward by a chain around his neck there was Gelmir of Nargothrond. As the heralds of Angband thrust him to his knees, many could see the merciless scars on his back. Even from the tops of the fortress I could hear the cruel voice, crying, "We have many more such at home, but you must make haste if you would find them; for we shall deal with them all when we return even so." And they hewed off Gelmir's hands and feet, and his head last, and left him.

It wasn't until Findekáno sounded his trumpets I realized that all the host of the Noldor was set on fire and Gwindor, brother of Gelmir, had leapt forth on horseback with many riders. There was a sudden burst of sounds loud and horrifying as I regained myself. It all happened so quickly—too quickly. I heard a clear ring as Beleg unsheathed his sword and I glanced frantically at him. _This can't happen, this can't happen. Not this way._ But we only briefly exchanged a grim look before we were swept away into the torrent of confusion and darkness.

The sun, now risen, glared upon the waves of the host of the Noldor and of Angband. The former host had burst out of the stronghold of Barad Eithel on horseback, and with swords gleaming they charged the latter. Suddenly the dark fire hidden deep in the caverns of my heart was aroused and as we rode forward, flecks of crimson showed themselves forth in the irises of my originally dark eyes. The pupils gleamed and hints of silver and gold materialized. I hefted my sword aloft and bared my teeth at the growling Yrch. I could have sworn I saw a hint of fear in their eyes before it was quickly masked by menace as we thundered forward.

My blade was swift and deadly, for I showed no mercy as I swept them down like fire upon a field of reeds. The other Noldor were of like manner; we rode them down without hindrance, and before the western Yrch army could be strengthened it was swept away. We had been riding for hours now, yet the fell fire kindled in the hearts of the host of Hísilómë could not be extinguished, and the memory of the cruel death of Gelmir chased after us, ever seeking our doom.

I had lost Beleg in the tangle of fury but Finno was visible in the front, although the party from Nargothrond flew ahead to the gates of Angband. My breath whooshed out of my lungs as if someone had smitten me in the stomach as I realized their intent.

"Finno!" I screamed, gasping for air. "Findekáno!" but the feeble cry was lost in the storm. I could only watch as Gwindor and the Eldalië of Nargothrond burst through the Gate and slew the guards upon the very stairs of Angband. And even then I spurred my horse forward with the desperate hope that I could warn them before it all worsened. I screamed Findekáno's name until my throat went raw, and I had nearly reached him but suddenly—

 _Fire. Ashes. Dust._

My ears were clogged and my ragged breathing was deafening in my ears. Squinting, I blinked dust out of my eyes—or was it ash?, attempting to wring the fogginess out of my clouded mind. Where was I? I couldn't remember. Think, think, _think_ , I urged myself. What was I doing here? I fought to remember. Why can't I remember—why can't I _remember_? Where is—who am I looking for? I was—

Abruptly I felt pressure on my stomach and realized I was lying face down in the dust. As my senses gradually sharpened, I was suddenly seized with dismay, and frantically I scrambled to my feet. The pounding headache was like a clock in my head—tick tock tick tock—a menacing threat to the nameless fear that was now haunting me. And that clock soon grew into a parallel beat to the marching feet that was close—too close to me. My breath caught in my throat as I stole a glance upward. In the dust. . .shadows marching, growing. . .coming closer, closer! I stumbled backwards, and upon seeing the gates of Angband sealed shut I tightened my fist, realizing that I was holding my sword; I must have picked it up sometime, perhaps when the clock began.

"Gwindor," I whispered. Memories, thoughts swirling through my mind like mist in the mirror of Artanis. "How did it all come to this?" Wincing as I wheezed in the ash falling from the air, I heard feet marching in front of me and also behind me. The sound of hooves began to crescendo and Findekáno emerged from the dust leading the host of Hísilómë, and when the two forces collided I managed to struggle to my feet. Through the smoke I again glimpsed the huge metal door of Angband slammed tightly shut. _We had already lost_. Lashing out at any Yrch who dared come near me, I found my way to Finno. When our eyes met he flashed me a quick look. In his eyes I could read his thoughts: _Where are they, where are they? Where is Nelyo?_ I said nothing however, for I knew that it was all too late to turn back.

The days dragged as chains wrought around feet yet still the host of Hithlum pushed on, for the raging fire in our hearts are not easily extinguished. Whispers that the sons of Fëanor had betrayed us snaked to my ears. I had gone numb by the fourth day; even as most of the Men of Brethil fell, we were forced to retreat over the sands of Anfauglith. They had so nonchalantly thrown their precious lives away in vain, and would never return again to their woods. When night fell on the fifth day, the host was surrounded with the Enemy pressing ever closer. Nevertheless in the morning hope was renewed in our hearts, for the Gondolindrim had come hastening over the hill at last. I saw Turukáno and Laurefindil at the head, leading the host, but to victory or to doom I did not know.

My heart was glad when at the third hour of morning, the trumpets of the eastern host were heard at last coming up from the east. Finno and I fought our ways to Mae and the banners of the sons of Fëanor assailed the enemy in the rear. I remember that the scent of him was so good as I hugged him right there in the middle of the battle—all I had been smelling for the past five days were blood, gore, and death. While tears streaked my grime-smeared face, I muttered something incoherent along the lines of, "I knew you'd never abandon us. Damnit, Mae."

Finno hugged him too and smiled and coughed into his shoulder. "You're so late. So, so late."

Mae merely smiled at us in the sad, contemplative way, as if there was something terrible that had happened that made him hate himself but he didn't want us to know so he masked it with a smile.

But our embrace was broken as the gates of Angband opened again with a loud creak. There was a great roar as there came wolves, and wolfriders, then Balrogs, and dragons, and last Glaurung father of dragons.

I backed up as Finno smiled grimly. "The Great Worm has returned, I see," he said.

The wolves came slamming into us first. We managed to avoid most of them as Glaurung approached slowly, bellowing and breathing fire on the warriors closest to him. I kept my eyes fixed on the dragon as he stomped forward, lashing his great tail back and forth, separating warriors until I realized—

"Mae!" I yelled as loudly as I could, for my voice was hoarse. "You can't let the hosts separate. Don't let him—"

But the Great Worm turned his red eye on me and there was a whip of movement and suddenly there was darkness. The next moment I found myself on the ground with dirt and blood in my mouth. My head was pounding and spinning at the same time, how was that possible, something was warm at my side, where was Mae, and Finno, they could not be separated, the dragon, the dragon, where was the dragon—

I lifted my head up, looking for Mae, for Finno. Where were they? Abruptly I was aware that there was a hand on my back, and someone was saying my name.

"Finno? Finno?" I murmured.

"It's okay, stop talking, save your strength," he said.

"No, you have to get to Mae. The plan is to draw the two hosts apart. They want to separate us. We'll be more vulnerable that way."

"I know," Finno said.

I was confused, and struggled to regain my composure. "Then get—go to him! Draw us back together—"

"Shh, Hith, it's been a few minutes. You were knocked out. He's too far for us to to anything now."

"What?" I struggled to lift my head again.

"I know. We can't do anything now. Just regain your strength. You're still confused," he said.

"What's going on?" I muttered. My head had begun to swim again.

"It's all right, just calm down," he said.

"Why are you telling me to calm down? This is happening right now, and we need to—we can't. . ." I managed to sit up this time and lean on him. "It's so loud," I said. "I need to get to Mae."

"Hith!" he hissed as I stumbled up. I caught sight of Mae's red hair in the tangled mess and headed toward it, hewing Yrch out of my path. Káno was next to him; they were fighting back to back. Suddenly there was something happening in Mae's host—the Easterlings were fleeing.

"Traitors," Finno growled.

But there was more. The sons of Ulfang were not fleeing, but went suddenly over to Morgoth and were driving in upon the rear.

And all the while, Glaurung was working on driving the two hosts apart, so that Mae and Káno grew farther and farther away from us with each moment, each breath. Then suddenly over the eastern hills there came a new force. The thrumming of the Men on horseback were like many large drums booming in the deep. Everyone stopped to watch the arrival—a new strength of evil Men, summoned by Uldor. My heart was seized abruptly with an illimitable panic and my breath came in short breaths, for the eastern host was now assailed on three sides.

"What the f—" Finno muttered beside me.

"We have to," I said. "We have to get over there. Finno, you need to help me."

"Hith," he said, and paused. I looked at him. "This is not going to work."

"I know," I said, then suddenly from behind there came a wolf leaping. I drove my sword into its gaping mouth and flipped it to the ground as I pulled the blade out. Everything was sore but my arms and back ached most of all. "But we must try."

I then said no more; speaking was too much of an effort now. Glaurung was still sweeping his tail and blowing fire at the hosts but he was occupied with the Naugrim of Belegost for the moment. We used this distraction as a gift and hewed our way through the Yrch. But there were too many, and now there were Easterlings turning on us with Yrch too.

I caught sight of Káno and Tyelpe in the tangle. I must have cried out to them, for they turned wildly around. Then I saw Mae, leaning heavily on his brothers; his right side was completely shrouded in dark crimson blood. There was so much blood that I couldn't even see where he had been injured or anything. I could hear his ragged breath from where I was, still far away.

My ears were clogged, choking me internally, and I could hear only distant screams and booms in the darkness. Before I knew it, I was swept farther and farther away until all I could see was the broken, scattered eastern host. The air had suddenly grown very cold, and somewhere the Naugrim were singing in deep voices, carrying one of their dead, Azgahȃl their lord, as if they were back in Belegost and there was nothing that could hinder them.

Suddenly I was aware that the battlefield was now so empty and Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, was come. He had turned to face the remnant of the Noldor and the Edain, but his gaze was fixed on Finno. I didn't know when or how I had made the sudden decision—I just ran, my wings unfurling from my back, forgetting all that I had done to protect the secret before.

I launched myself into the air and dived at Gothmog, ramming my sword into its shoulder in sudden onslaught. He turned his head and roared fire into my face; I tried to yank my sword out but lost my balance. The fiery whip flew up and slammed into my back and I went sprawling to the ground. Turukáno flung a spear and it was momentarily overwhelmed, nevertheless Balrogs are not easily defeated. The whip whistled again as I coughed up blood on the dust and struggled to stay conscious. At last I was able to lift my head and there Finno was alone fighting Gothmog.

Finno moved as a raging fire; they seemed to be evenly matched even though Finno was but a small Elda compared to the towering Balrog. It reminded me of atto's last fight, and I screeched at myself to do something, _something_ before it was too late. But the energy I had used to conjure my wings affected the ungolócë poison stirring in my blood and a spasm of pain tore through me. We were surrounded by a tide of foes thrice greater than all that was left to us, and Finno was alone, with all his guard dead about him.

It was then another Balrog came from behind, pounding the earth with its hated feet. I screamed as I hurled myself into the Balrog, but he easily brushed me aside; I had no weapon. Finno whirled around as the Balrog brandished a long whip of fire and cast the thong about him. I hadn't even comprehended what had happened before he fell to the ground, his sword thrust out of his hand.

I only remember meeting his eyes one last time. So many memories raced through my head as I saw those eyes, those beautiful, kind, pained eyes that held so much in me. I can't remember a day he wasn't my big brother; I can't remember a day he wasn't there for me I needed him. His lips moved as if he was trying to tell me something like how he used to tell me stories when I was little. In my damned imagination, the words sounded and drifted across to me like sound waves from a song. _Titta nettë. Melinyel, titta nettë_.

It wasn't enough of a farewell.

Then Gothmog hewed him with his black axe, and a white flame sprang up from his helm as it was cloven.

I shut my eyes then, and let go.

Some words were being shouted over and over again somewhere in the mist. . .I could barely make out the words. . .aurë entuluva. . .aurë entuluva? Aurë. . .like what Finno said earlier. . .but no, that was five, six days ago. . .how could it have been so long ago? Utúlie'n aurë. . .the day has come. . .aurë entuluva. . .day will come again. . .

I drifted off and abandoned all thought.

 _Thereafter it was named the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Unnumbered Tears,_

 _for no song or tale can contain all its grief._

 _As the sun went down beyond the sea_

 _Night fell in Hithlum,_

 _and there came a great storm of wind out of the West._

 _By the command of Morgoth the Orcs with great labour gathered all the bodies of those who had fallen in the great battle, and all their harness and weapons, and piled them in a great mound in the midst of Anfauglith; and it was like a hill that could be seen from afar. Haudh-en-Ndengin the Elves named it, the Hill of Slain, and Haudh-en-Nirnaeth, the Hill of Tears. But grass came there and grew again long and green upon that hill, alone in all the desert that Morgoth made; and no creature of Morgoth trod thereafter upon the earth beneath which the swords of the Eldar and the Edain crumbled into rust.*_

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Titta nettë._ (Q) Little sister.

* * *

*Chapter XX, "Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad," _Quenta Silmarillion_.

* * *

 _A/n:_

 _As some may know, I'm a huge classical music nerd, and I think Samuel Barber's 'Adagio for Strings' fits very nicely for this chapter. I recommend listening to it :)_


	24. Chapter XXIII

CHAPTER XXIII

* * *

 _Anfauglith, 472_

Smoke. . .everything was covered in smoke and ash, falling from the sky, shrouding the ground with a blanket of darkness. My eyes opened to laboured breathing. My ears twitched and I winced, realizing that the breathing was my own. I flipped myself on my back to ease the breathing in my lungs. The field reeked of spilled blood and death.

 _Finno_.

I pushed myself up on my forearms, and upon seeing Finno lying a few yards a few yards away from me I began to crawl toward him.

"Finno. . ." The voice was barely a voice, raspsed and forced. "Finno, it's all right. I'm coming. I'm coming. It's going to be all right. . ."

I grasped his hand, feeling it for warmth, for life. . .But it was cold.

I refused to believe it. I struggled closer, placing my fingers on his neck, feeling for a pulse.

"No, no, Finno, hold on. I'm getting you out of here, Finno. It's going to be all right. I'm getting you away from here."

There was a spear stuck in the ground. I braced my hands on them, slick with blood, and struggled to stand. A sudden searing pain ripped through my body and I fell to the ground again. My fingers clenched the spear again, nails scoring the splintered wood. At last my fingers left the support of the spear and I stumbled to Finno, nearly falling on him. Grunting, I wrapped my arms around his limp body and heaved him as far as I could.

I had barely gone a few feet before I collapsed, Finno thudding to my feet. I pressed a hand to the bleeding wound at my side and turned my eyes to Finno again. His hair was matted with blood that had trickled and dried on his brow.

"I'll come back for you, Finno, I'll come back," I whispered. "I'll find someone to—to bring you back. Bring you home. . ." Tears spilled across my face. I didn't want to leave him. . .how could I leave him here by himself, in this labyrinth that contained nothing but death? I could not leave him here to a roofless grave, the only shelter the cold clouds mourning overhead. What right did I have to do this? I could not make the same mistake before as I had before—I could not leave him as I had with atto.

But my feet carried me away—far away from him.

I barely reached the cover of the forest before my legs gave out. Upon seeing the blood that was spilling over my abdomen, my legs, a terrified grief and fear shot through me like a bolt of lightning. Maybe I wouldn't last long enough to bring Finno back. . .it was impossible for me to go any farther and there was nothing, no one near. Everyone was gone, lost, _dead_.

The trees above seemed to swim above me, their shadowed leaves blurred in the darkness that was now sweeping over my vision like a curtain. It wasn't a question. I wouldn't last the night.

* * *

The earth was moving—something was moving under me. My eyes shuttered.

"Tyelpe?" I murmured.

"Hold on, Hith," came the response.

I made to reply but no voice came out and the world vanished.

* * *

Again I was aroused as someone laid me down on the grass. Distantly I would see the blurred lines of Mae's face and Tyelpe's behind him.

"Mae. . .Mae," I whispered. I couldn't take the pain all alone. "Finno. . .Findekáno. . .he's gone."

* * *

My breath was hissing and rasping in my throat, a terrible wretched sound, and as I gradually began to awaken, the forced breathing quickened with fear and trepidation.

"Oh my Elbereth, I think she's waking up," came a voice. Káno—was it Káno? Thank the Valar he's alive. . .

"Seriously? Don't look at me, go to Nelyo or Saerin or someone I have a fucking thing stuck in my chest and it's bleeding." Tyelko.

"What's going on?" I heard the sound of Mae's voice approaching. He seemed to be on horseback, for the soft thumping of the hooves on grass vibrated from the ground. It was then I realized that I was somehow lying down. . .probably not on horseback. A wagon, perhaps from the Naugrim, if they had survived.

"I think she's waking up," Káno said.

Mae muttered something under his breath. "Saerin," he called.

"What is it?" Saerin, who was now the healer.

"Káno says she's waking up," Mae said softly. "What should we do about the infection?"

"There's an infection?" Káno was incredulous.

"That's what you get for wandering around dead bodies for two days," Tyelko said.

"It's not confirmed," Saerin said, "but very likely, yes." He sighed. "There's nothing much we can do now. It'll be a lot of pain when she gains consciousness. All we can do is make sure she doesn't get worse. Change the bindings regularly. The normal procedure."

"All right," Mae said quietly. "Thank you, Saerin."

I didn't have the strength to open my eyes, but my fingers curled a little. Everything was so tiring—it felt as if a burden so heavy it was unspeakable had been placed upon my chest except it stretched to every part of my body, weighing me down with every movement, so much that it seeped to my mind and poisoned all that was good. I heard things around me distantly, but much of it barely processed into my mind. It was like I was submerged in water, a constant ring in my ears, drowning out all others. It seemed ages of the world before I was finally able to calm down again and go back to sleep, yet even then I was restless.

Perhaps it was later in the night I returned to consciousness, perhaps it was days later. The breathing came a little easier now, but the burden on my chest had not faded. I heard Telvo's voice first.

"Nelyo," Telvo said quietly, mournfully, like how I saw him at first after the loss of Pityo, but more than it used to be.

Mae's voice was despairing. "Which one is it?"

"What?" Telvo was incredulous. "No, Nelyo, none of them are going to—are going to. . ." He sighed. "Everyone's all right, Nelyo. We won't lose anyone tonight."

My fingers twitched and my eyes shuttered. "You won't lose me." I was surprised at how faint my voice sounded; it was barely a whisper, and I had no strength to speak any louder.

"Oh my Varda." There was a rush of movement. "Hith? Hith, was that you? Did you really say that?"

"Mhm. . ." I struggled to keep my eyes open.

I felt him sigh. "Thank the Valar. . .I thought—I thought you would never wake up. . ."

"Are the others all right?" I murmured.

"Tyelko and Káno are relatively fine, Moryo's shaky but slowly stabilizing, Curvo—he's—I don't know, I don't know what'll happen." Mae took a unsteady breath, casting his gaze to the ground.

I drew in a rapid breath of air.

"Curvo will be fine," Telvo said, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "He'll be all right. It'll just take some time."

Mae sucked in a breath and looked up a little at me. "Water?" he asked.

"All right. . ." The words scarcely came off my tongue.

He lifted my head up, my shoulders just barely above the ground, as Telvo took a sponge and squeezed the water into my mouth slowly.

"That's good," I said, the voice still faint.

I was laid back on the grass then, feeling lightheaded and ill. The trees reeled above me and blended in and out of the darkness, but nonetheless, I kept myself conscious.

"Is Tyelko all right? He said he had something in his—" Suddenly I was seized with a spasm of pain and I crushed my eyes shut, clenching my hand into a fist.

The pain faded a little, and faraway I could hear Mae's voice again.

"Talk to me," I breathed.

He struggled with something to say. "I remember. . .I remember when you used to make angsty poetry when you were younger."

A ghost of a smile crept onto my lips. "I remember."

"They still pertain to me," he said softly. "I remember that day you told me you wanted to come to Himring with me and I complained about the dustfulness of the room."

"It _was_ dustful," I murmured.

He chuckled quietly. "I remember the time you made me dance with you while Káno played a waltz on his harp. Moryo came in and started singing with all of us and almost stepped on the cat dancing around."

I closed my eyes and breathed in the memory. "I remember."

Mae sighed dramatically. "I'm out of ideas."

"Alas," I said, trying to go for that verbal irony. "Where did Telvo go?"

"Curvo." He looked down.

My brows furrowed. "What happened, exactly?"

"I don't know, I don't—" he exhaled. "He tried to face the valadamned dragon alone, that's what he did."

I said nothing. Another spasm of pain seized me and I clutched onto his arm. I was still gasping when it passed and slowly I opened my eyes again.

"Are you all right?" I asked. "When I saw you, I thought. . ."

"I'm fine. Most of the blood wasn't mine. It's just—" He wavered. "What you said about Finno—" He stopped abruptly, not wanting to continue, for I had squeezed my eyes shut again and shook my head.

A terrible coldness washed over me, an utter loneliness, and suddenly emotion overcame me like a river of torment, a river of memories. I could barely remember anything that happened, but all I knew was that—

"No," I whispered. A tear slipped out from beneath my eyelids and soaked my lashes. "It was— it was. . ." Yet the sentence was never finished.

He saw the truth in my face and turned away.

"Mae. . ."

"Don't." He stood up. "I'm going to check on Moryo."

"Mae, I—"

"Close your eyes," he said. "Go to sleep. You'll need it."

* * *

The next time I awoke, I was alone. It was night, and the survivors were sleeping around the wagons, a night watch posted amongst the trees staring into the gloom; from the energy I could tell that it was Saerin. With some difficulty I sat up, and upon hearing the sound, Saerin turned.

"You're alive," Saerin said as he strode over, keeping his voice low for the sleeping others around us.

"Thank you," I told him, although the ghost of pain was still prominent upon my face.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asked. "Do you need anything?"

"Fine enough to stand," I said, bracing my hands against the tree. Saerin tried to help me as I stood, but I shoved his hand away. "Don't touch me."

"I'm sorry," he said, taken aback. "But your wounds—"

"I am a Maia, Saerin," I told him, gritting my teeth. "I am no ordinary Elda. Where is Lord Maedhros?"

He appeared to be surprised. "By the riverbed over there," he said, gesturing.

"Thank you," I said again, and headed into the shadows, trying my best to ignore the pain in my side. Even now my voice was faint, and more so when I thought of all the losses that had just befallen, but I did not want to think of it—to think of the emptiness.

I did indeed find Mae by the riverbed, tending to his wound, and when I approached he stopped but did not turn to face me. The wound was larger and had dealt more damage than he had led me to believe—it extended from the top of his chest to his hip and was jagged at the ends.

"You told me most of the blood wasn't yours," I said, checking the stitches. When he did not answer, I looked up at his face.

"You should be sleeping," he said softly.

I did not reply, for the cold emptiness in my heart seemed to weigh down upon my chest, making it feel so hard to breathe, to speak. I breathed in a rattling breath and sighed. "Let me finish the stitches for you."

He didn't move; not did he indicate anything otherwise, so I began to thread the wound in silence. The bottom of the wound had begun to bleed again, thus I dampened a cloth and pressed it against the thorn skin. When I had finished stitching the wound I washed my hands in the river and watched the blood come off my hands into the water like a red mist. It was a time when I was not particularly thinking about anything, when emotions flooded through me as unformulated thoughts, much like the red mist I was watching wisp away in the water. The unspoken pain was between us, and none dared speak of it.

Suddenly I tensed and limped to my feet yet still clutching my side. Despite my somewhat swift movement, Mae looked up slowly.

"Orcs," I breathed. "Not very many, about thirty, but they are swiftly approaching the wounded."

"Fuck," Mae hissed, getting to his feet. When I made to follow him, he turned. "Stay here. You're wounded worse than many of us are, and you can barely stand. Much less wield a weapon."

Yet I continued to stumble along the way. "I can tell you where they're coming from."

"We don't have the time to talk about this," Mae said, and strode back to the wagons.

The Orcs were killed, but not without loss. Some of the wounded had died and more were hurt so that the air was constantly filled with moans and cries of pain. Mae had torn his wound again so I restitched it, but unlike the others he never flinched, never cried out. Neither did I. We could never be rid of the wretched sounds, and I spent most of the journey gritting my teeth, trying to block out the moans. Everywhere I turned I felt haunted; everywhere I turned felt doomed to perish.

* * *

— _a few months later—_

We sat opposite of each other facing a fire crackling in the shadows. Mae's face looked haunted and ghastly in the dim illumination as I tossed another stick in the fire. I settled back, opening my mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. We both stared absently into the fire for a moment that was longer than simply a moment. It seemed to stretch out through the ages, and embedded into the long years were times of light and dark, of joy and of woe.

"The Union's fall," I said finally, with difficulty, "was not your fault." It was all I could manage; the silence between us seemed to vibrate with a throbbing energy.

Softly, Mae said, "You sound like him."

At this I went stiff.

"He said I didn't deserve Angamando," he continued. "He said that no one in the entire damn world deserved that." And he paused. "But if any one person deserved it, it was me."

"Don't say that," I said quietly.

"Why shouldn't I, after all?" he murmured. "It's the bare truth."

"It's not and you know it," I said. "You're just like any other."

"Any other that sent their own cousin to their death," he said.

"That was not you," I shot back. "It was not you. You would never have willingly done so."

"Yet it still happened. Does that not change anything?" The voice was unfeeling, numb.

I looked pained. "Mae—"

"Don't. You shouldn't even be with me. I am cursed, and doomed to fail. There is no way out."

I said nothing.

"I should never have even—why did I, knowing that I would only bring death upon my people?"

I inhaled. "You had hope."

"Hope perhaps, but a false hope. One that will never be ignited again. I don't know what I was thinking," he muttered.

"What I mean to say is that," I began, "the outcome of the battle was not of your doing. You gave us hope in a time when all was lost," I said. "You gave me hope. Especially after the Dagor Bragollach, and—everything." My voice shook. "I've realized that I've never actually thanked you for saving me. If you weren't there, I don't—I don't think I would be here right now. Hantanyel, Mae. I don't know where I would be if I was alone. I was drowning—drowning in a sea with no surface. I thought there was no way we could stand against Moringotto, but you gave me hope. You gave us all hope, summoning the Union together. We almost. . .we almost had victory," I said. Then gaining my strength, "Maybe if Doriath had sent aid, or if it weren't for—"

"If it weren't for the Easterlings that were under my command," he said bitterly, "maybe we would have abolished evil altogether."

"That would never have happened anyway," I said. "He would always be there, and he would plant dark seeds into the hearts of our people, but at least we could have gotten him out of our world for a while."

"For a while," he said. "But now our people are dead. Bór and his sons have died fighting for us, and the Naugrim have been utterly slaughtered. Azgahâl is dead, Huor is dead, Haldir is dead, Húrin is captured, and the High King is dead. And I could have stopped this," he breathed. "I could have gone and brought him down to his knees but I failed. Failed to a bullshitting human. Uldor the Accursed."

"Again," I said. "Not your fault. Anyone could have done that."

"I should have known. I should have," he muttered. "Now everything's gone, and we will never be able to rise again. It's true. All of our forces have been scattered far and wide, Moryo, Tyelko, Curvo—they're all bitching off somewhere; and Telvo—who knows? And Káno—well, you've seen him. The Naugrim have lost their king, Doriath will never help us at all, Hithlum is overrun, Himring is overrun. We're literally homeless. We have no leader; the High King is dead—"

"Stop," I said icily—a command. "Stop it. I can't take this anymore. You're being ridiculous. It was not your fault that Findekáno is gone." I thrust the word out into the air, then pushed forward. "It's not your fault he's dead," I whispered.

The silence was deafening. Inside I was screaming, screaming at the terrible injustice in this world. The pulses and threads of energy around them suddenly escalated and the very air seemed to harden and suffocate them.

So softly that the words barely seemed to exist, I said, "It was that damned—"

"Your father," said Maedhros. There was no emotion under the ice-cold mask. None at all.

"Don't you dare call that son of a bitch that," I growled.

"It's the truth," he said.

"Maybe," I said, too quietly. "But not of me." I steadied herself. "Finno would not have wanted this."

"Stop saying his name," he snarled.

"You need to get used to this," I said. "Finno is gone and you're never going to see him again. Finno is never going to dance with you at Merethi again. Finno is never going to tell you that you didn't deserve Angamando again—"

"He was wrong," Maedhros said fiercely. "He was wrong. It's true. I deserved every single damn part of Angamando; I deserved losing F-findekáno; I deserved it all," he spat. "Everything."

"All because of that shit oath," I snapped. "If you weren't—if you didn't—this whole thing wouldn't have happened. Findekáno would still be here, maybe he'd be telling you that if you deserved it then every single person in the fucking world deserves it too—"

"And I suppose that that is including you," he said.

"It is!" I shouted. "It is."

"So I suppose you deserved every moment of being a thrall, and maybe you loved it too. Maybe every time you look North you wish you were back there because someone gave a shit about you. And maybe you deserved it the first time and especially the second time—" Suddenly he went silent. And even the fire seemed to be silent.

"Especially the second time, because I couldn't save atto?" came the sound of a chain of emotionless words. "I know. I did nothing there because of a nameless fear of being captured again. I could have jumped down and did something at least. Maybe do what Thorondor dared to do—bring his body back to his country. But I was scared. Scared and cowardly. I deserved the second time all right. I don't deserve to be here.

"All right, then. I killed Ñolofinwë, you killed Findekáno. I know—that's what you want to hear. You want all the blame placed on you so you can keep brooding over your so-called faults."

He gave no response.

"Next time you think of that terrible damned oath," I said, "don't come running to me." I stood up. My things were already on my horse as I sprang onto him.

"Damned it is," he muttered, but I paid him no heed before my horse leapt away into the starless night.


	25. Chapter XXIV

CHAPTER XXIV

* * *

 _Doriath, 472_

I came to Doriath late in the Year of Lamentation, and there I found that the Havens of Falas, where the remnants of the survivors of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad had gone, had been sacked by Morgoth's forces. Near the place I had lived when I was little, it was the village my mother had gone to for supplies, and I myself had gone there a few times. I wasn't sure what to feel about it—in fact I felt hardly anything at all.

In Menegroth I wrote music and danced to earn a living; I did not like for people to know that I had once trained to be a soldier of Hithlum. Both Beleg and Mablung had survived the Nirnaeth, thus on occasion I would speak with them, but most of my time was spent alone or with Artanis, as Melyanna had grown distant after Lúthien became a mortal and left Doriath with Beren.

Nonetheless, in the year after I came, Túrin, the only son of Morwen and Húrin, arrived in Doriath. I remembered Húrin from the Nirnaeth; his words still echoed in my head and brought a certain emptiness and sorrow to my heart: _aurë entuluva_. . .day will come again. . .but I did not know he had a child. Húrin had been captured in that battle, and was the last standing as the rest of us had crumbled to ash and wilted in the gathering smoke.

* * *

 _The beautiful country of Hithlum had faded to grey after the Nirnaeth, as it was now occupied by the Easterlings that had plundered and ravaged the land, and pushed on to Mithrim and Dor-lómin. Their arms were scattered, and their league broken; and they took to a wild and woodland life beneath the feet of Ered Lindon, mingling with the Green-elves of Ossiriand, bereft of their power and glory of old. In Brethil some few of the Haladin yet dwelt in the protection of their woods, and Handir son of Haldir was their lord; but to Hithlum came back never one of the western host, nor any of the Men of Hador's house, nor any tidings of the battle and the fate of their lords._

 _But Morgoth sent thither the Easterlings that had served him, denying them the rich lands of Beleriand which they coveted; and he shut them in Hithlum and forbade them to leave it. Such was the reward he gave them for their treachery to Maedhros: to plunder and harass the old and the women and the children of Hador's people. The remnant of the Eldar of Hithlum were taken to the mines of the north and laboured there as thralls, save some that eluded him and escaped into the wilds and the mountains.*_

* * *

I knew he was talking about everything but what happened last year, and, ironically, it was known as the Year of Lamentation.

I wasn't sure if I liked it or not, but I appreciated it enough. This morning I had joined Beleg on guard duty as he patrolled the borders of the Girdle and the woods of Doriath. It was calming, I supposed, to be in Doriath, for it was protected by the Girdle, yet I always kept my guard up for peril; it had become a relentless habit by now. In truth I was barely listening to what Beleg was saying, as I found it difficult to concentrate on things like this in these days.

I halted suddenly, for I felt a presence about, and Beleg glanced at me concernedly. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"There are three travelling slowly towards Doriath, one a boy and the two other aged men," I told him, my eyes staring into naught and feeling the bonds of energy flowing all around.

"How far?"

"About a league." I felt their energy again, cautiously. They seemed to be people with no evil intent, and no disguises either, so they could be no spies. I walked towards the threads of energy, though keeping myself hidden, as I always did, and Beleg trailed behind me, none too cautiously.

They came into the Girdle unhindered, and when Beleg saw them, he hissed, "They look half-dead."

"Don't humans always look like that," I muttered.

Beleg had already gone out to them, greeting them, offering food, and being nice unlike me. I stayed lingering in the shadows and looking upon them.

"I am Beleg Cúthalion, Chief of the Marchwardens of Doriath," he told them. "This is Lady Híthriel. Who may you be?" I noticed that he only added the 'lady' to make my name seem longer compared to his title. He might have said 'of Hithlum' or 'of Himring' if they had not just been destroyed.

The younger man, though not much younger than the other, spoke. "My name is Gethron and this is Grithnir, and we were servants of the House of Hador. This here," he said, gesturing to the boy, "is Túrin son of Húrin, of the House of Hador."

At this I stepped forward, astonished, and the two men drew back, finding me frightening probably because of the jagged scar upon my face. Túrin, however, stood his ground, and gazed up at me in defiance. "You are Húrin's son?"

"Yes," he told me. "I am Túrin Húrin's son of the House of Hador." It seemed he said it once again to make sure it was true, to make sure he remembered who he was.

* * *

Beleg brought them to Menegroth, where Thingol decided to adopt Túrin as a son, for he knew Húrin before, yet I suspected it was because he felt bad about how he treated the last human that came to Doriath. For nine years he dwelt in Thingol's halls, and during that time his grief grew less; for messengers went at times to Hithlum, and returning they brought better tidings of Morwen and Niënor. Grithnir died however that year, for he became sick while a guest in Menegroth, and never saw his northern homeland again. It was actually Gethron who stood before Thingol in the halls of Menegroth and asked that Túrin be fostered by the King.

Sometimes I would still train on my own, hidden in the vast woods of Doriath; I had not completely forsaken the past yet much of it was lost in the ashes of the Haudh-en-Ndengin. I practiced monotonously the forms I had been taught over the years, barely thinking of what I was doing. A little after an hour I stopped, and strapping my blade to my back I wandered.

On the other side of the brush there came the sound of Beleg's voice, and even as I looked, I saw him instructing Túrin on holding a bow correctly. The sight reminded me of Findekáno training me when I was little and something shifted a little in my mind. I gritted my teeth.

"Nope, you're not doing it right. Listen to Beleg," I barked at Túrin, slinking out of the brush. "Solid stance. Grip that valardamned bow right. Your fingers are wrong. And your elbow. Rotate that correctly, for Varda's sake."

Beleg looked at me. "Hello, Híthriel."

"Don't distract the child," I said. "The way he looks like now, he's going to shoot your face instead of the target."

Túrin glared at me. "Show me how."

"I just told you," I said, striding over. "Have you not listened to what I have just said?"

"My stance looks fine," Túrin complained.

"Feet shoulder width apart. That doesn't look shoulder width to me."

He fixed his stance uncertainly.

"Really? You don't look like you're evenly distributing your weight."

Beleg put a hand on Túrin's shoulder. "That's because you're being intimidating, Hith."

"Whelp. Sorry."

Beleg came in front of Túrin and strode towards me, speaking hastily in Quenya.

"What the actual—when did _you_ learn Quenya?" I was perplexed.

"I only know a few words," he said, "and I'm only saying this because you're being mean to Túrin. He's only nine."

"Nine? He looks twenty-five!"

"Atani age differently, Híthriel."

"No!" I shouted at Túrin, who had begun to notch his arrow again. "Release the arrow, don't push it weirdly like that."

"I was going to do that!" he yelled back and let the arrow fly.

It hit the target, at least.

"Not bad," I said.

* * *

 _Menegroth, 477_

"You've invited me over for a reason, Artanis. You always have one. Tell me in sooth, or I may be less fond of some things."

She didn't hesitate. "Híthriel, you're not all right."

"Am I supposed to be?" I said too quietly.

"It would be nice if you were all right. Splendid, actually."

"Mm."

"I know Findekáno—"

"Don't say his name."

"Hith—"

" _Don't say his name_."

I was being exactly like how Maedhros was acting. This was ridiculous, absolutely _ridiculous_.

"It's been five years, Híthriel."

"I _know_. Stop intruding in my business."

She sighed. "I'm sorry. But I think—"

"You think _talking_ about it is going to make it any better? This isn't so simple, Artanis. I don't know if you ever knew how I feel right now, but you're clearly not showing it. Why is it so hard for you to just _understand_? Of course I want to live again. Of course I want to get over this shit and be like how it was before. But how is that supposed to be possible? Just _how_? I lost everything. Every _one_. This isn't going to take a few years to be normal. I know it will never be the same again. You know those times when you're little and you go somewhere with your parents and you ask when you will be able to go home? There _is no home_. Every place that I have ever called home has been destroyed. Gone. I will never return home.

"I know you don't understand. You've been in Menegroth all this time. In Menegroth, with your belovèd husband. You're lucky he's still alive and sound. And not _dead_ and _gone_. Do you know what aid Doriath sent us in the war? Two people. _Two_ people that came against the Great King Thingol's will. I thought I was actually getting somewhere with my life for once and this just completely stopped it. Stopped it." I snapped my fingers and the crisp sound seemed to echo off the walls. "Death stops all."

Artanis said nothing.

* * *

*Chapter XX, "Of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad," The Quenta Silmarillion.


	26. Chapter XXV

CHAPTER XXV

* * *

 _Menegroth, 477_

The day would dawn grey when Anar would not come out from her retreat behind the clouds, and it was a day as such I approached Thingol in his caves slowly, waiting to speak.

"What do you want from me?" he said when I had halted before him.

"Your leave, Majesty," I said, choosing my words carefully. "I desire leave for Dor-lómin."

"To bring tidings for our young Túrin?" Thingol strode to an overlooking pillar, his back to me.

"Yes," I answered.

He did not turn from his place by the pillar. "Generally I would not send one that is not of Doriath—one that is not of Sindarin descent on an errand that is for Doriath."

"I am not of Doriath," I said. "Nor am I of Sindarin blood. What do you care if I do not return?"

Slowly Thingol sauntered over to me. "Very true. I deem you nothing more than that piece of shit over there. Actually I deem you less." He jerked his chin to a broken cup on the ground which had me wondering about many things. "And I would rather have you out of my kingdom and dead—" He paused and sighed. "But, my dear wife over there would not permit it. Thus I say this for the good of Doriath. No one will venture out of the Girdle unless I will it, and that will not be for many long years."

I waited for his response. Silence would do me better is these situations.

"Hoping to pass by your old home on the journey?"

My expression did not change.

"Hithlum is destroyed. There is nothing left." Thingol turned to me at last. "You will regret it. Go. You have five days to bring us the tidings."

I bowed and made to leave, but he spoke again and I halted in my steps.

"Will you go alone?" he said.

I didn't turn. "Yes."

* * *

It was late that night I left Menegroth for Dor-lómin. I paused at the rock at the edge of the woods of Doriath, however, and stood looking the terrain before me. I sighed, thinking of the undeniable truth I knew I would see, when abruptly a quiet voice broke the silence.

"Lady Híthriel?" Túrin said softly, emerging from the cover of the shadows.

I turned a little, but wasn't surprised he had come.

"Are you going to Dor-lómin?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "I will return in five days' time. Do not worry."

Túrin faltered, then looked up at me. "I wish you luck."

I nodded and headed into the open. "Farewell, young warrior."

"Farewell," he said in return.

* * *

 _Dor-lómin, 477_

I dared not return to Hithlum; the paths that way were far too perilous to venture through and I feared what would happen to me there if I returned. I had noted that Thingol had sent a few people after me to the borders to make sure I was actually going in the right direction before they turned back when they saw that I indeed was.

I knew I had come to Dor-lómin when I saw the crimson torches flaming in the distance, something only the Atani did in the night. It was a ritual of some sort; the Easterlings danced in dizzying circles and chanted in deep, thrumming hums, but I lingered not to watch, and thanked the Valar for the momentary distraction. I sensed movement approaching and quickly pressed my back against the wall. Someone wandered near, and I knew it would not be long until they may find me. I glanced up at the walls above me—they were short compared to the structures in Hithlum and Himring. Strapping my daggers to my back, I began to scale the wall. No one ever bothered to look up, even when danger was lurking about.

Landing on the roof softly, I crouched to ensure that I crossed the village unseen. Morwen and Niënor should be in the place by the edge of the village, the only house unoccupied by the Easterlings; it was told among them that the Lady of Dor-lómin was a terrible witch of great power, and in league with the Eldar, so that none yet dared to stray near although the time would come soon enough.

Quietly I reached the house of Morwen; it was not hard to find, for all torches were brightly lit and flaming in places save this one. There was an open distance I had too travel unseen, and I studied the rift, wondering if I could make the leap. Yet I deemed it could go in many unforeseen ways that drifted into perilous paths, and thus I came to a house the nearest to the shadows of the wood. Climbing down cautiously, I sidled to the trees and came to the house, a side of it shrouded in the leaves of the wood. The curtain was drawn however, and they would not see me if I went there. Again I scaled my way to the roof and leaped down straight in front of the door. Swiftly it opened and I darted in, coming face-to-face with the woman I deemed to be Aerin.

She was quite a young woman, barely out of the age of childhood, yet her hazel eyes held years of torment and memory. The auburn hair that streamed down her back glinted in the sliver of light coming from the veiled windows and her eyes flicked to the corners of the room to check that they were secure.

"You are the messenger from Doriath, are you not?" she whispered.

I nodded. "You are Aerin?"

"Yes," she said. "Come. We will light no candles."

I followed her into the room where Morwen and Niënor waited. Morwen was striding to me before I had even barely entered the room. Niënor stood by the draped windows, glancing through the curtains where a sliver of light protruded, but at my entrance she came closer to the door. She was but a young child of four in this year. Morwen, taking my hands in hers, looked up at me.

"How does my son fare?" she asked.

"Well," I said. "He has been well cared for in the halls of Menegroth."

Morwen breathed a sigh and released my hands. "For that I am glad."

"He trains with Beleg Cúthalion, the Chief of the Marchwardens of Doriath. He will grow to be a great man like his father," I said. "I myself may teach him some things on occasion. It never hurts to have more instruction."

"You teach him?" Niënor inquired incredulously. "I did not know that women were taught to fight."

 _Elleth_ , I corrected internally. "They are not," I said, "Generally."

"You must be wearied," Aerin said, bidding me to sit. "You have had a long journey."

"All right then, if you will also." I unstrapped the sword on my back and collapsed to the seat. Aerin did indeed sit and Morwen also, but Niënor stayed at her spot by the window.

"What news shall I bring Túrin?" I said when they had all settled.

"We are well enough," Morwen said, "as well as we can ever be in Dor-lómin in these evil days."

I sighed. "I am sorry. I do wish I could bring you to Doriath with me, all of you."

"Yet I doubt Doriath would remain for long," Aerin said.

"It may remain long enough." Morwen took a letter from her pocket and handed it to me. "Give this to him when you return. It will ease his worry. Tell my son. . ." and her voice broke a little, "That I miss him and I love him very, very much." Tears streamed down her cheeks and she covered her face with her hands.

"Mother," Niënor said, coming over to her.

"I. . .apologize, I need a moment," Morwen said faintly.

"Come," Aerin murmured. "Let us be away."

Going out of the room, Aerin closed the door softly behind us and sat in a chair by the table. "Please, sit," she said, holding her hand out in a polite gesture.

I did and even as she did, she turned to look at me. "I realize we've never had a proper introduction. My name is Aerin."

"I am called Híthriel," I said in response.

"Where do you come from?" she said.

"Hithlum." I glanced at the ivory unlit candle at the center of the wooden table. "Before it was destroyed."

"I apologize for asking, but how old are you?" Aerin asked.

"I think. . .about four hundred eighty. And there is no need to apologize. In fact, I don't see why."

"Oh all right then," she chuckled. "It is impolite to ask the age of one amongst the Edain; I did not know it was different for Elves. I myself am a mere nineteen."

" _I_ did not know it was impolite to ask ages in Edain culture," I remarked. "Quite interesting indeed. I had an old friend that studied much on the Edain but he had never told me thus."

"Who was it?" she inquired. "The one that studied Edain?"

"Finrod Felagund, the King of Nargothrond. He is gone now, though, and I grieve."

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's all right, really," I reassured her. "That was long ago." It wasn't. Scarcely seven years had passed since then. "Where do you come from? Well, Dor-lómin, I expect."

"Yes," Aerin said, "I was born in Dor-lómin as the daughter of Indor, a member of the House of Hador close in relation to Húrin Thalion and the House of Morwen. But when one of the House of Ulfang captured Hithlum and became lord, he took me to wife, hoping to produce an heir."

The voice was deathly quiet. "Who is this man?"

"Brodda, Lord of Hithlum."

The rituals outside seemed to grow louder. "Is he out there?"

"I expect so," Aerin said, alarmed. "It is why I was able to come here today. I must return ere the sun rises." She started as I stood up. "Lady Híthriel. Please. You will give us away."

"You need not return there tonight," I said.

She was still pulling on my arm. "Lady Híthriel," she pleaded.

I let out a tense breath and collapsed back into the chair. "You're right. I'm sorry." I looked up at her. "I should know by now, yet I still cannot resist. There are many things in this world that cannot be changed." My eyes were dry and stinging from unblinking. "I'm sorry." The voice was barely heard in what seemed like utter silence.

"There are so many things I wish I could have changed," I murmured. "So many."

Aerin let go of my arm slowly and backed away but did not sit back down, her face frightened in the dim light. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I know of all that happened; I can envision the hurt you feel now, but I know I do not know all of it. I do hope that you may find peace one day within yourself. There is so much more to a person than it seems, I have found."

I sighed but said nothing. The shadows on the walls trembled in the flickering light from outside, like ghastly spectres but haunting and real.

"You should go," I told the girl, "for I must."

"All right." Aerin strode to the window and hauled it open.

I stood facing her for a moment. "Farewell, maiden of Dor-lómin."

"Farewell." She raised a hand in parting as I leaped out the window and up the walls.

* * *

I sprang across the rooftops and stared directly in front of me, trying to block out the sounds of the Easterlings, but out of the corner of my eye I could see their scarlet robes and collars of gold dancing by the fires, the colors blurring into one as they moved. At last I halted in my steps, unable to stand it anymore, and bracing my hands on a chimney protruding out of the rooftop, I looked.

I expected no more, no less, but simply upon hearing—upon seeing the girl lying chained on the ground, the predatory spirit awakened in me. Within seconds I was flying off the roof, my daggers twirling like silver fans in my hands. I stabbed the first one through the abdomen and the second in the neck. They fell too easily for the rage that was trembling through me, sputtering as a match in my blood, needing to burst out and devour all in its path.

Yet unfortunately I had not looked and surveyed the entire tribe that was now charging at me, axes and spears like a tempest of wind, as there were much more than I had anticipated or hoped. The fire in my veins did not last long; the throbbing rage dulled almost as quickly as it had come, and I was disarmed and held down, even as the twenty-third man fell dead to the ground.

A man approached. His long braided hair was greased back with animal fats of some kind and in the strands a golden ribbon was entwined and it shone in the firelight like newly polished armor. "Looks like this one wants go in stead of the girl." He was plainly the leader of the tribe, and thus was Brodda, the 'Lord of Hithlum', as Aerin had described. Upon a jerk of the chin from Brodda, the Easterlings holding me down dragged me to the rock, but I fought wildly, and my fist connected with a man's nose and came back bloody. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brodda step forward, calm and composed, unlike the other Easterlings trying to win control of me. Then suddenly his hand had seized my neck, crushing it, and he lifted my face up to his as I fought for breath, choking.

"What are you, a wolf?" he mused, and his eyes seemed to be as dark as the deepest lakes in Dor Daedeloth. "Well," he said, exposing his teeth in what could have been a smile, "you're nothing more than a mouse now." He threw me to the ground and I inhaled violently, shuddering, and coughed blood onto the ground. My raiment had been partially torn off in the struggle, and the men jeered at the sight.

His fist raised and fell, and I fell into darkness.

* * *

When I awoke it was nearly dawn. I lay alone by the scattered ashes of the fire and stray objects on the ground, still bound to the rock. Even now the ropes were tight and scraping against my skin, but I conjured my wings, straining the bonds until they snapped and broke. Gasping I fell to the ground, the wings vanishing. Slowly I staggered up and upon finding my cloak lying on the ground, tattered and torn, I wrapped it tightly around myself.

Thus I began the journey back to Doriath. It seemed longer than it should have, and I wearied more swiftly than was better for me, yet I did arrive late on the fifth day, as appointed. I brought Túrin the news of his mother and sister, on how they were still somewhat safe and well in their home, but I said nothing of Aerin or of the events following.


	27. Chapter XXVI

CHAPTER XXVI

* * *

 _Doriath, 479_

 _I saw Eithel Ivrin—the waters glimmered in the illumination of the light reflecting from Ered Wethrin, the sun dazzling and bright in the air. Then I felt the ground, my fingers entwining in the blades of grass by the riverbed. My feet dangled just above the surface of the water, the tips of the toes grazing against the water, breaking the smoothness of it._

" _I wish I could change the fact that they wouldn't let you in the council meetings," Finno said from behind me. I had heard him coming moments ago but said nothing until now._

" _No matter. I'm too young anyhow." I didn't turn._

 _But the last words blurred and echoed in the shadows, blending in the mist and growing louder, louder, deafening—_

 _I was back on Anfauglith, the reeking stench of blood and death drifting to my nose and embedding it in me, in my existence, in my being. My breath caught in my throat and I gasped for air, wheezing._

" _I'll come back for you, Finno, I'll come back. I'll find someone to bring you back—bring you home. . ."_

My eyes flew open and I lay there on the bed, chest heaving and matted with sweat. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. I whispered it aloud to reassure myself, but to no avail. I threw off the covers and wiped sweat off my brow, still breathing hard. The words and the vividness of the memory sang in my ears quietly, distantly haunting.

At last, I knew what I must do.

* * *

 _Haudh-en-Ndengin, 479_

Somehow I convinced Thingol to give me leave of Doriath for a few days; he said he was drunk that day and was jesting about everything, and regretted many of his life decisions. He was plainly still drunk but I was more than happy with that; it would be much more difficult to escape and break out of Doriath politely.

The journey north was cold and grey; I rode at a moderate gallop but ceaselessly. Melyanna had given me a bit of lembas, but not by Thingol's knowledge.

I arrived at the desolation of Anfauglith at time of early morning. It made me skittish to be so close to Dor Daedeloth, but I hardly thought of it. The feeling of the memories embedded in the dream swirled in my head ceaselessly, an old feeling I had not tasted in a long while. Sometimes it made me feel young again, like how I felt in the Mereth Aderthad, yet sometimes the memory burdened me and had me thinking of all the long years I had despaired and was lost.

The Haudh-en-Ndengin could be seen from a distance away. Grass had not yet grown over the roofless tombs of the slain; ebony ash coated the mound like a dark storm come out of the North, an eternal sorrow. Scattered pieces of gear and weaponry lay about and spears were stuck upright in some places. When I neared, I halted my horse and leapt off, my gaze on the mound before me. Slowly, as if in a funeral march, I wandered around it, looking at everything yet nothing in particular.

A young woman lay on the mound, dead. I did not step closer, but continued my funeral march. In life she had been Rían, daughter of Belegund, the wife of Huor, son of Galdor; and she was wedded to him two months before he went with Húrin his brother to the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. When no tidings came of her lord she fled into the wild; but she was aided by the Grey-elves of Mithrim, and when her son Tuor was born they fostered him. Then Rían departed from Hithlum, and going to the Haudh-en-Ndengin she laid herself down upon it and died. She was only twenty-two years old.

Something dully gold glinted a little in the dim morn. I hesitantly headed over and picked it up, turning it over in my hands. It was a helm, and although it was ruined in many places, I could run my thumb over the emblem, brushing away the dust encrusted in blood. The symbol was barely recognizable but still decipherable.

It almost plummeted from my trembling hands. I could hear the stifled thump of it hitting the ground in my mind. Instead I let myself fall to my knees as I picked the grime away from the golden design, tears tumbling onto the dirt like the rain on the mountain that now drizzled down gently upon me, soaking the mire embedded on the helm, watering the Haudh-en-Ndengin so that grass might grow again on the mound. . .

At last had I returned—but too late.

For a long time I knelt there, mourning, holding the helm in my hands before the mound as the rain drenched me until my hair became a darker shade that it had been before, almost like the tone of the deepest lakes in Dor Daedeloth.

Then I felt a shift of energy behind me and brushing against it a little, I found that it was Káno. I turned a little, unsure of what to say, what to feel. Likewise, he was drenched in rain, and his cerulean eyes lifted a little to meet mine as I looked upon him. He had a sword strapped to his back, but otherwise I could see no other weapon on him, although he probably had a dagger or two in his boot.

I turned away, and back to the helm. "Why did you come? You haven't lost your family."

"He was my cousin too, you forget," Káno said quietly.

There was a short pause, then—

"You've come alone," I said.

"Yes." He turned to look at a spear stuck in the mound, perhaps just to distract himself. "The rest of them are so distant nowadays."

"Are you all in Amon Ereb?"

"Sometimes," he told me. "Most of the time wandering. Nelyo is the only one that stays there most of the time."

"Wandering as leaves before the wind," I murmured, quoting the line of the book we had all read as children of the Noldor.

"I suppose that is true," Káno said.

"How. . ." I hesitated. "How is Nelyo?"

"What do you think?" he said blearily. "His cousin and best friend is dead and gone, and you left into the wild, adding onto the complete utter loss of the entire northern part of the continent."

"I'm not going back, if that's what you're asking me to do."

"I'm not asking you to do anything," Káno said. "I merely answered your question in a very vague way, like I always do."

I huffed rather angrily and hurled the helm to the mound, which made the sound of a dull thump as it fell. "Damn it."

Káno didn't move from his position.

"This is so, _so_ , fucking—" I broke off, for I did not know what to call it. Terrible? Ridiculous? _Damn it, stop crying_ , I was screaming at myself, and wished no one would ever know that I was in fact crying, for the rain mixed into the tears streaming down my face.

The storm grew more fierce now, and although there was no lightning, thunder rumbled in the dark clouds and a shadowed mist blanketed the lands. The rain came down hard and bitter upon my face, and suddenly I spun around on my heel and strode back to my horse, unstrapping my belongings from her. I fastened the daggers upon my hip last then roped the reins off. Slapping the horse's side, I directed her into the direction in which we had come.

"Go on," I told her, none too calmly. "It is time for you to return to Doriath." The horse tread slowly off into the shadows then went for a gallop.

"Where will you go?" Káno said, the voice almost indifferent.

I turned slowly, and again I thought of how I must look like Thuringwethil sodden in the rain, devising a tactic to ensnare her prey. It was cold, and the gale blew icily around me, but I cared not. I could spend forever in the cold. Perhaps I already had.

"Away," I said, and sprinted into the air, the massive wings unfurling from my back like a cloud of darkness. From far above, I could see Káno below, a mere speck in the desolation of Anfauglith, the Gasping Dust. As I ascended higher, I remembered what I had told Daeron, the messenger from Doriath, in the Mereth Aderthad, as a mere elleth of twenty-nine.

"And who may you be?" Daeron had inquired.

"A wanderer of Hithlum," I had said. "Híthriel I am called."

I had said nearly the same words to Finno before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, on the walls of the fortress Eithel Sirion.

"I am a wanderer from nowhere," I had said.

"Not from nowhere," Finno had told me, "from Hísilómë."

Then in Angband—

"Where do you come from?" Silivros had asked me.

I paused. "Hithlum," I had said, yet this had been before the Nirnaeth had happened.

But where was I from now? I never told them Himring, for it was the place for those that had lost the beauty of their past self and hröa from long years of torment in dire places, and I did not want them to know that I was one of them. Once I was certain that I belonged somewhere—somewhere safe, somewhere pleasant, somewhere I could have called home.

"I am a wanderer from nowhere," I whispered to the wind, and closed my eyes, feeling the fierce wind and the rain pound against my face.

 _And a wolf._

* * *

 _The Wilds, 488_

I liked it better when the night was quiet, when all the vibrating and shimmering energies around the air could be felt, when the lilting dances of the creatures of the shadows could come forth, when the song of the rustling leaves in the bitter wind could be heard.

Although I was indeed quite close, I was still hidden by the darkness of the night, and the glint of my daggers as I flipped them into my hands was hardly more than a flicker. The Orcs before me were louder than the band of Easterlings I had slaughtered yesterday, and the orc patrol the day before, and also the Easterlings the day before that.

Slowly I sidled behind one group of orcs sitting to the side of the main company, nothing more than a shadow in the night. Most of the were armed each with a jagged sword and a short knife. Few had bows, for which I was glad of, but they would easily throw their knives, and even as I looked, I saw a slight bulge in one of the boots; they had more daggers hidden about. Something was roasting on a spit by their fire—a ground squirrel, by the looks of it, and a very plump one also. I checked the surroundings one last time, being sure that there were no concealed traps, then drew in a quiet breath.

As quick and silent as an adder, I slipped out of the shadows of the trees and slit the throats of the three orcs sitting to the side. They fell soundlessly and I slunk back into the darkness. The other orcs had not even noticed that anything was amiss, and continued to feast and holler at each other.

I continued on, taking out all of the stray orcs first, until one of them finally noticed. They all began shouting at the dead orc bodies lying all around their camp, and one of them pointed to me shouting, "Hey! Over there!"

I smiled a feline, predatory smile. "Come and get me," I said, and shot into the sky.

When they figured out where I had gone, half of them were already dead. The rest of them died just as easily, shrieking and screaming pitifully, as I cut them down like they were stalks of hay.

Then the task was done, and there was only the stench of blood and death in the air. I breathed it in, nearly choking on it, but forced myself not to. Shifting my wings and sheathing my daggers, I began to depart when a rasping voice spoke.

"Who are you?" the voice with the hissing breath breathed.

I turned. It was an orc, dying of the chest wound I had given him; yes, it was indeed a gift, and the kindest I could ever give. I approached him, and gazing down at his bloodied face, slammed my boot down on his fingers, feeling the satisfaction of hearing the bones crunch.

"Your master's daughter," I told him, and swiped my dagger across his throat.

I watched as the orc sputtered blood out of his mouth and the life faded in his eyes. He slumped over and I left.

Such was how I had survived for the past nine years, and I had no intention of changing it anytime soon.

* * *

I found it funny that I left a cave only to venture into another one, and again wondered why, of all places, I had chosen a cave. At least it was a nice cave, one made of relatively smooth grey stone at the summit of a green hill. Down below there was a river that flowed like silver in the starlight and around the trees there grew little star shaped flowers the shade of pearls. Sometimes the moon would shine down upon the tall entrance of the cave, perhaps easing me a little in my sleep.

Tonight the sky had been stolen of its lights and the flowers looked grey in the gloom. I trudged up the hill to the cave, a pail of water in my hand. Generally I would not linger in one place for so long, but spending so much of my energy at once caused the scar to worsen. I found even climbing up the hill quite difficult, and breathed in relief upon remembering that I had rationed out food for the next few days so I would not have to gather more.

After I had eaten, I sat at the entrance of the cave, pressing a cold cloth against the scar to ease the fire burning within. The leaves were falling into the stream, and even as I looked, they drifted away in the current, never for my eyes to behold again. Gazing at the star-flowers upon the hill, I remembered those times Findaráto and Laurefindil would take me to the forests around Lake Mithrim to hike around the paths. They tried teaching me to draw one time, but I thought mine looked so unacceptable I got angry and never wanted to draw again. I felt terrible until a moose came trotting down the path and ate the flower Laurefindil was drawing. I giggled as Laurefindil told off the moose while Findaráto seized his paintbrush and immediately began drawing the moose. Eventually the moose was so irked by Laurefindil's snipy comments that he charged straight at him and he had to leap out of the way.

"Thank you for stalling him," Findaráto had said, putting on his finishing touches to his painting of the moose.

"How did you draw him that fast?" Laurefindil had demanded, and I had giggled again. Quite a bubbly child I was, now that I think of it.

"With your assistance," Findaráto had replied, bowing his head courteously.

Thinking of Lake Mithrim, I remembered some occasions rowing on the lake when I was a bit older. As an adolescent child, I would say that I had quite the temper. Laurefindil and I were on a small rowboat in the middle of the lake, because he had to apparently tell me some grave news.

"So what are these 'grave news' you must tell me?" I had said while nearly losing an oar in the middle of the lake. That would have been convenient.

"Well," Laurefindil had begun, chewing his lip, "the Lord Commander would like me to inform you that Saerin has won the space you wanted in the—ah—thing? I forgot what it was called."

"Oh, that's interesting," I had drawled, nodding to the statement, and flipped the boat.

"Hey!" he had protested as he was flung into the water. I myself was not in the mood of getting wet and had therefore sprung into the air, landing on the top (or bottom, you could call it) of the upturned boat. Laurefindil had burst out of the water and clung to the boat, sputtering.

"Won the space I wanted? My ass! Why would you tell me this in the middle of a lake?" I had said in exasperation.

He had only shrugged.

I smiled at the memory, and wondered if I would ever see him again. I had already lost Findaráto. Perhaps I had already lost myself; it was hard to feel anymore and sometimes the pain was so much that I thought I would surely die then.

Retreating back to the inside of the cave, I lay down, draping my cloak over myself, and wondered how long I had left.

* * *

When a few days of fitful rest had passed, I found another band of Easterlings to kill. It was odd how this patrol lit no fires, and slept apart from each other. The night watch stood to the side, doing something the humans invented called 'smoking pipe weed' or something of the sort. There was a small tent by the dead fire that drifted a little in the cold wind and a snare lay by it, waiting for its prey. I disabled the trap in case I accidentally stepped into it and turned my ambush into my own demise.

Quickly I slew the night watch and made sure his body did not make too loud of a thump when it hit the ground. I moved on to the next ones, killing them quietly in their sleep, abruptly remembering how real soldiers took no pride in an unfair fight. That was what they always used to say when I was training in Hithlum. Now I cared not how they died; I cared only to do justice. What did pride matter when there was only death at hand?

There was shuffling in the tent, I heard, as I approached it, and without hesitation I stepped inside, only to find a very undressed Easterling looking very confused. Then suddenly there was a burst of energy behind me and I wheeled out of the way, upturning the tent, just as Thuringwethil lashed her claws out.

I beat my wings a few times to steady myself as I reeled backwards, the force of the attack throwing me off balance. Thuringwethil stood from the collapsed tent, flaunting her ebony wings, and her red lips tilted into a predatory smile.

And I smiled that wolfish smile right back at her.

"They told me you were dead," I mused. "They told me Minas Tirith fell on top of your pretty neck, sweet Thuri."

She laughed, her canines scarlet where she had bitten the Easterling. "Grown savage, have you, little elleth? I see my master has taught you well."

"He has taught me nothing," I said. "I learned by myself, unassisted."

"Mm," she said, putting on a mock sulky expression. "Is that right?" She stepped closer. "To answer your assertion, indeed, yes. I passed very, very nigh to death, but my master found me, and healed me well."

"Spectacular," I said. "Then it seems our little game is unfinished, and must be continued."

The Easterlings that I had not finished my work with were grouping together, and had long bows and a good supply of arrows.

Thuringwethil took another step forward. "Indeed." In an instant she was lunging at me, a tempest of silver and darkness, but I simply vanished into the shadows. She staggered and nearly fell, growling at the humiliation.

I reappeared behind the Easterlings drawing their bows and darts, cutting them down. It was always more convenient to kill the easiest ones first. However, bending the dimensions had a price, and the scar began to throb again. I was on the last Easterling, the very undressed one, when a knife was suddenly hurled into his chest and he fell pitifully, choking on his own blood. I turned to Thuringwethil.

"I want this to be a fair fight," she told me, and thrust her wings into the air.

I followed her, taking off into the night. The wind was cruel, but I had grown to love the bitterness of it, for now it would dance with me. _Dance with me_ , I asked the wind, _will you?_

Thuringwethil was a vampire, a living spectre, but I was a wolf, a shadow in the night. _I am a mere shadow_ , I told myself. _Nothing more._ I struck and vanished, struck and vanished, but she was swift, and her attacks were difficult to avoid; she was a storm of silver, lashing out at anything she could find. Still I had not fully recovered from the last episode of the scar, and now, upon expending so much energy and bending and twisting dimensions, a wave of pain stabbed through me. I reeled backwards in midair, my wings losing control. One of my daggers fell out of my hand just as I caught myself in the air. Thuringwethil dived for me and I lurched aside at the last moment. The scar was still clawing at me mercilessly and I fought for breath, gasping, yet Thuringwethil was no longer in the mood for a game. No longer in the mood for delay.

 _So be it then_. I closed my eyes and let myself fall towards the black lake. _I will play her game._ She wanted me to end in her claws, not anyone else's. She wanted to claim my death as her own. As I plummeted to the lake, she extended her iron nails, and just as I was about to hit the water, I swerved aside and my dagger caught her in the side. She yelped and skidded across the water, her legs grazing the surface. Then suddenly she charged again, as fast and deadly as an arrow, and hammered me into a tree, claws digging into my shoulders. I cried out as the claws broke the skin of the scar, pain tearing through me. She gave me a grim smile. I fumbled for a dagger then realized I had lost my other one in the fall.

"Pitiful," she mused, and took her right claw out of my shoulder, blood dripping from the tips. She placed it on my neck, almost gently. "Say hello to death for me," she said, and sunk her claws into my neck.

But before it could go too deep, I seized the dagger in my boot and severed her hand off, plunging her own claw into her chest, forcing her into the air. I beat my wings furiously as she shrieked, an unearthly noise that pierced the air like a thousand darts. The energy around us was throbbing, pulsing, screaming—then. . .

Only the wind.

There was only the sound of the wind as Thuringwethil's body plummeted to the black lake, the latter so dark it seemed like a yawning abyss, sucking in all light. It made a distant splash as it hit the water, then sunk into the deep.

I descended to the ground, some flying mostly falling. The scar yielded incessant stabs of pain and threatened to break me. _I am a wolf_ , I tried to tell myself. _I can get through this._

And ever so slowly, I began to drag myself back to the cave.


	28. Chapter XXVII

CHAPTER XXVII

* * *

 _How odd fire is—_

 _It writhes, it burns,_

 _It warms, it nourishes._

 _A perilous beauty,_

 _Cruel and sharp._

 _A celestial demon,_

 _Wrathful and enchanting._

 _Just watch how it dances,_

 _How it hums with the heavens,_

 _Like the vibrations of love_

 _Throbbing in the air._

 _Is the fire scarlet,_

 _Like freshly spilled blood;_

 _Or is the fire ruby,_

 _Like the perfume of wine;_

 _Or is it crimson,_

 _Like a rose?_

 _If it is a rose,_

 _It must be a beautiful one._

 _Flawless and luscious petals,_

 _Smooth as silk._

 _If it is indeed wine,_

 _It must be an ambrosial one._

 _The taste sweet as nectar,_

 _The aroma like oak._

 _If it is the scarlet of blood,_

 _It must be an enthralling one._

 _For the hue, so deep and dark,_

 _May never release its grasp on me._

 _Yet now it seems to me;_

 _The ways of my heart_

 _Have shattered and pieced itself together again—_

 _I am changed._

 _For the fire is no longer_

 _The perfume of wine,_

 _The crimson of a rose._

 _I find it to be a dark fire,_

 _Ebony like the drums in the deep,_

 _Never fading,_

 _Never releasing its grasp on me._

 _Yet sometimes when I look,_

 _I can see the true form_

 _Of this ravenous, lovely fire._

 _It is only a mirror;_

 _Only yourself._

― _The Scarlet Fire_

* * *

For hours I had laid there in the shadows of the cave, the pain too great for me to move much at all. In the beginning I tried to make the ointment to relieve the pain but barely retrieved the ingredients before I sagged back down again, the stone bowl of willow bark crashing to the ground. Laying a few shaking fingers upon my brow, I found that my skin was scalding hot and realized I was sweating all over, which made it a lot more uncomfortable.

Shifting onto my side, I reached for the bowl of water but I was just so tired. . .lying down would feel better maybe. . .but I needed the water. . .my throat was so dry. . .too tired. . .just lie down for a bit. . .wait, I needed something. . .what was that I needed. . .what was it?

I drifted off into nothing, my conscious ness wandering in an unknown dimension far away, knowing naught, thinking naught, remembering naught. There was only a silvery mist lingering about in the air like the last sealing blanket.

Then in the moonlight shining down upon the entrance of the cave, there was a slight movement. I turned my face to it, slowly; it was the only part of my body I could move without causing too much of an inconvenience. It was a wolf, an albino one, with fur so white it seemed like he would be invisible in the snow. Without reaching into his energy, I knew who it was. Mairon, in his wolf-hame, come to ensnare me at last.

"So you've come," I said, still lying on my side, unable to move. "Here I am at last, at your feet, at your disposal. You can do what you want with me now. Make me into the weapon that will destroy Beleriand." My voice was shaking for yes, indeed, I was afraid. I had every right to be, didn't I?

He said nothing, however, and padded into the cave, almost like a normal wolf. He came next to me and looked at the water bowl I had been reaching for, my fingers mere inches from grasping it. Shifting into his usual form, he poured water from the large stone basin into the bowl and slid an arm around me, hoisting me up. I was too thirsty to argue, and greedily drank the water as he tipped it into my mouth. When I could drink no more, he laid me back down on my back and sat by me on a rock, looking out at the moonlight. Out in the sky, the moon hung full and bright, like a lantern.

"Is it not interesting how the logic of predator and prey works? The prey will not stand a chance against the predator, and therefore must flee. There is no choice to fight, no choice to find some courage in themselves. Sometimes they may outrun their predator, and steal a few more days, or years alive, but the predator was meant to catch the prey, and so they will. Such is how the ecological niche operates." He turned back and began making the ointment I had failed to complete. I said nothing, and stared glossily at the moon. The night was quiet now that the fever had died down somewhat and the pain was not roaring and rushing like waves in a treacherous tempest too much anymore.

Mairon finished with the ointment and placed it aside. After examining the wounds that Thuringwethil had given me, he began to dress them. "You were a wolf, like me," he said, cleaning the blood away from my skin.

"Were," I repeated.

"How did it feel, killing Thuringwethil?" he said.

"Good," I told him, "if the wounds did not hurt so much."

Both of us were silent for some time, until I spoke again.

"Why," I said at last.

"At this rate, it looks like you would die of dehydration and starvation rather than the scar," he said. "And you are, in fact, my yendë."

"I'm sure you have plenty of bastard children," I spat. "Why do I matter so much?"

"None of the others survived," he told me. "You are the only one."

"What—" I began, then stopped abruptly. "What was my mother's name? She never told me."

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I called her Mirerúnya. Her ataressë was Ithilótë."

"Hm."

"I would say she was quite a brave elleth, daring, more like, and foolhardy and naïve too," he told me. "She wanted to try everything that was new out there."

"Did you love her," I asked, "or was she just another one of your games?"

"The latter, I'll have to say," he said. "I prefer ellyn, honestly, if you did not know."

"I knew."

"Although I did find her an interesting one. Usually I don't stay with people that long. I just have a nice night and leave—"

"I get it."

He smiled, although it was more of an exposure of teeth. "You have daddy issues."

My expression came nothing short of _what the fuck_?

"You and all of your—ah, what do I call them?—friends, you all have daddy issues," he said.

"Is that what your spies tell you when they go slinking back to your tunnels?"

"Yes, and no."

I sighed in exasperation.

"Go to sleep. I'm taking you back to Doriath tomorrow in the night."

I sighed again. "If you're trying to make me not hate you, it's not working."

"I'm not trying to make you think anything."

"You don't understand. You took more from me than you can possibly think. I lost everything in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad—everyone—and it was all you behind it. You and your master."

"You left the Fëanorians yourself."

I hurled a wave of energy at him and he went crashing to the ground. A spasm of pain knifed through me but I bit it down and ignored it best I could. "How dare you say that."

"It is true, is it not?"

"Shut up and get out."

"You left everyone all by yourself, first the Fëanorians, then Doriath—I'm trying to take you to a place where you're not going to kill yourself."

"What do you care? You killed Findekáno."

"I—"

"Get out."

Slowly, he backed out of the cave, and shifting into his wolf-hame, went down to the river, where the golden leaves still fell.

I lay on my back, empty eyes lifted towards the moon until sleep took me.


	29. Chapter XXVIII

CHAPTER XXVIII

* * *

 _Doriath, 494_

I slid off of wolf-Mairon's back, staggering to the trunk of the tree for my hröa was still weak from the scar. He watched me step into the Girdle then vanished into the darkness. Minutes later Artanis appeared from the trees, eyes wary until she saw me. It was still difficult for me to stand upright and so she looped an arm around me, supporting me.

"Elbereth above, Hith! You disappear from Doriath without a word and suddenly come back after thirteen years, half-dead! What is the meaning of this?"

My lips barely moved. "Thirteen years isn't a very long time." I had said nearly the same words to Finno so many years ago after returning to Hísilómë from Himring. Then, I was still young and naïve. Now, I did not know.

She put her hands on my shoulders and looked into my face. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to meet hers. _They were cerulean like Finno's had been_ , I suddenly thought, and looked away.

"The scar," she said softly. "It is killing you, is it not?"

I drew in a shuddering breath. "Yes. Slowly. Very slowly."

Artanis lowered her head, as if grieving. "I will see if I can make something that can. . .ease the pain." Ease it, because there was no cure to it. Even Mairon himself could do nothing. _Your hröa is far too weak to transfer your fëa now,_ he had told me.

I lifted my head and nodded ever so slightly. "All right."

The voice was so faint.

* * *

It was spring and yet the green leaves seemed grey in the fog. Menegroth had few windows and I was lucky enough to land with a chamber that had one; my chambers were considerably smaller than those in Himring and Hithlum, but it was all I needed. In these days I heeded little, and that was all right, wasn't it? The Sindarin Eldalië cared nothing when the Noldor fell to ruin.

Melyanna and Artanis were at the door so I let them in. They joined me at the table by the lonely window and Artanis produced a small flask out of her cloak.

"Melyanna and I made this for you," she said, offering the flask to me.

I reached forward, wavering, but took it and ran my fingers along the texture of the flask before opening it.

"Just a few drops should be enough for a few days," Melyanna told me as I examined the silver liquid in the flask. It was more viscous than syrup or honey, much more viscous, in fact, and it smelled somewhat like a very tangy and oaky wine. Tilting my head up, I tipped a bit of the draft into my mouth, nearly choking on it. It tasted like ash and dust and all the destroyed things in the world, and although I coughed at the tang, I forced it down.

I barely felt any different inside, even as I brushed my fingers along the scar gingerly. There was no pain. I expected some joy perhaps, on knowing that it would hurt no more, yet it was all the same.

"Thank you," I said to them, dipping my head.

Artanis smiled a little although she could read the emotions on my face. "I'm glad it works."

"Morwen wishes to see you," Melyanna said as she slipped out of the door.

"Morwen?" I inquired.

"Yes. She and Niënor came to Menegroth just a few months ago, seeking tidings of Túrin, but has found none," Melyanna told me.

"Hm," I said. "All right. Thank you for letting me know."

* * *

The day before, Morwen had given me a note to meet her at one of the bridges by Menegroth, and now there I stood, awaiting her arrival. The rushing sound of the river below the bridge somewhat calmed me, and some of the water sprayed upon my face as I looked down upon it. It was the most turquoise water I had ever seen, bewitching me with her beauty. It felt so long since—

"Híthriel?" The voice was clearly not Morwen's and was vaguely familiar.

I turned in surprise. "Silivros."

He still looked somewhat the same, of course better than I had ever seen him. "Long time no see," he said, dipping his head.

"It seems like a long time," I said by way of greeting, "but really, all that has changed is ourselves.

Silivros grinned. "You still haven't lost your sense of poeticness. You look well."

"As do you." I looked back down at the river. "You stayed in Doriath all this time."

"I suppose," he said, then turned back to me. "What have you been doing all these years?"

I bit my lip, delaying my answer. "Nothing much."

He laughed and I smiled faintly. Needless to say, all the Sindarin Eldalië knew about the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, even those in Menegroth. I felt the energy around us shift, beginning with my own.

"Are you angry at those who did not fight in the war?" he asked, a little more softly. I knew that really, he was asking about himself.

"No," I told him. "I'm just glad that they are alive, and did not waste their precious lives for nothing."

Silivros said nothing for a while, then sighed. "I'm sorry for what happened."

I glanced at him, suddenly realizing that no one had spoke those words to me yet. Usually words like those came too often, but for the past thirteen years I had survived like living death. "Thank you. For telling me that."

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, which I appreciated. I felt someone approaching behind us and turned to Morwen.

"Greetings, Lady Morwen of Dor-lómin," I said, inclining my head.

"Lady Híthriel," she said, mirroring me. "May we speak in private?"

"Indeed." I followed her to the other side of the bridge with a slight nod to Silivros as farewell. There was a silence as Morwen and I ambled along the path. "Melian told me you and your daughter arrived here just a few months ago."

"Yes, indeed," she said. "We came for my son Túrin, but he is not here."

"Forgive me. . .I have not been in Menegroth for the past ah, fifteen years—"

"That I know," Morwen said, cutting me off. "He went with Beleg Cúthalion to battle in the wilds in 481, thirteen years ago. But now it is said the Cúthalion is dead and there are no news of my son. I fear he is either dead or. . ." She drew in a shuddering breath. "I do not know."

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

"The King will not allow me to go out and search for him. He says it is too dangerous for us and cannot bear to betray the house of Hador once more like this," she told me, then lifted her eyes to mine in sudden vigor. "But you can, Lady Híthriel, can you not? You can find him. Will you go and find my son and bring him back to me?"

I admit, I was surprised at her words. "I. . ."

"Please, my Lady, I beg this of you," Morwen said, letting the desperation show on her face. "He could be in danger out there. Dying or dead."

"I. . .suppose I can," I said, stumbling over my words.

Morwen breathed a sigh of relief, releasing my hands that she had clasped in her own. "Thank you, Lady Híthriel. Thank you."

* * *

 _Nargothrond, 495_

Somehow the trees were different, although they were the same. They had been different to me, ever since Findaráto had passed away; the forest of Nargothrond seemed more stark, more lonely without him. It seemed as if he had brought the trees to life by simply existing, and now when he was gone they died with him.

I had departed Menegroth about a quarter of a fortnight back, following the River Esgalduin then the River Teiglin west to Nargothrond, seeking tidings of Túrin. Passing through the Talath Dírnen, I knew that Tumhalad, the northern region of the realm of Nargothrond, was just past the trees west of the River Narog. The hills of Talath Dírnen were like grey waves in the dusk and the clouds drew wavering shadows over the plains; these moorlands were watched closely by the scouts and spies of Nargothrond, but I could sense none near. I didn't fancy sleeping in the open hills, so thus I kept near the Ravines of Taeglin, and made the most of my journey across Talath Dírnen the next morning.

A little before sunset the following day I drew night the River Narog. At once my senses told me that something was amiss, and instantly I flipped my daggers into my hands, body taut in a fighting stance. But nothing came, although I could sense all the death and the blood before me. Quickly I strode through the trees, and conjuring my wings, glided over the River Narog then passed the trees to Tumladen—

Or now, what was left of Tumladen. Bodies lay all throughout the field, Noldor, Teleri, and Orcs alike, and the stench filled my lungs, threatening to choke me, yet I held it all in as I wandered through the desolation. In the northern host, I found Artaresto's body littered amongst those of the Orcs. His eyes were still open and unseeing, but I did not halt to close them; I feared an unspoken terror, and did not dare touch the bodies of the dead.

And Tyelpe—where was Tyelpe? Had he gotten out, or had he perished with all the rest? Was this all that was left of Nargothrond—ashes and ruin and death?

Upon emerging back into the cover of the forest, I turned suddenly bracing myself for danger, for I sensed life pulsing nearby. It was then I saw the body.

"Gwindor," I murmured, kneeling beside the dying ellon.

He opened his eyes ever so slightly, the light in his hröa dimming with each breath. "Have we met?" The voice was so faint, merely a whisper.

"In the Nirnaeth Arnoediad," I said, "I was in the western host."

His eyes shuttered. "In the Nirnaeth Arnoediad."

"I knew your brother Gelmir," I told him, "in my time in Angband."

"Angband," he repeated. "That cruel place. They took me there, and they—" He broke off into a fit of coughing, blood dribbling from his mouth.

"I know," I said quietly, noticing that one of his hands had been severed off, like Mae.

"Who are you? Are you of Nargothrond?" His eyes traced the scar upon my face.

"I was of Hithlum," I told him. "Now I am merely a wanderer. Morwen, Lady of Dor-lómin, sent me here for news of her son Túrin."

"Ah, the Mormegil," Gwindor murmured, smiling a little. "He went to go save my Finduilas. 'If you love me, leave me,' I told him. 'Haste now to Nargothrond, and save Finduilas.'"

 _They took all the ellith._ Gritting my teeth, I let the hate simmering in my blood delay its outburst. "What of Beleg Cúthalion? Do you know anything of him?"

Again he smiled distantly. "Beleg, yes, Beleg mellon nin, he brought me out of the darkness and into the light." He lifted his eyes to mine. "He is dead."

I bowed my head, mourning.

"When I escaped from the mines, he found me wandering in Taur-nu-Fuin and helped me back into the light. I helped him find Túrin, who had been captured by a band of orcs, but when we found him, he thought Beleg was an orc and killed him before he realized it was his friend. And now I will go and join him in Mandos," Gwindor whispered. "I am ready." He looked up at me. "You should leave here. It is not safe. There is no use in waiting for one that is already dead."

"I'm sorry I couldn't save your brother." Then maybe he wouldn't have rushed out in the Nirnaeth, drawing the entire western host from the fortress, then maybe he wouldn't have been captured, then maybe Azaghâl wouldn't have died, then maybe Finno wouldn't be dead—

"It's all right," he told me. "I couldn't either." _Now let me sleep_ , he seemed to be telling me as he closed his eyes.

I stood up, looking around at the ruin before me. Cursed thoughts were still swirling around in my head. _Maybe you could have prevented the Nirnaeth from happening._

I barely saw the silver whipping through the air before the knife lodged into my calf, pinning me to the tree behind me. A cry of pain sputtered from my mouth and suddenly my hands were bound tightly together behind me and the tree's coarse bark was digging into my back.

"I'll take that," the Easterling said, plucking the daggers from my belt. "And that," he continued, fishing two more out of my boots. "And who knows if there are more hidden about?" He gave me a simpering smile and leaned closer, fingers beginning to unlace my top from the collar.

"Get your filthy hands off me, fírima," I hissed.

"Oh, but you have no authority to do that, have you?" the Easterling said. "I did not expect to land with such a great reward for my deeds in the battle. They sent me back here to kill the survivors and refused to let me have my share of the women. I'll admit I've never had the pleasure of an elleth before, and look forward to this. . .adventure." His fingers brushed the scar and a jolt of pain spasmed through me.

"Don't touch it," I gasped, my body shuddering. What was going on, it wasn't supposed to hurt when touched anymore—shit, I forgot to take the draft today.

"Why?" he mused, pressing his hand to it. I gritted my teeth. "Are you a cripple?"

 _No, no I'm not._ "Yes," I forced out. "Please, I need my medicine."

The Easterling smiled, although it was more like an exposure of teeth. "Don't be so upset," he whispered, leaning into my face. "I haven't even began." He pressed his lips to mine and I froze for a moment, then played along with his game, letting faked sounds of pleasure issue from my mouth. He chuckled, murmuring, "I knew I would enjoy an elleth." Then tearing the knife out of my leg, he cut my hands free and barrelled me to the ground. "If you're so eager, I think I would prefer it this way."

Immediately I grabbed for the knife but a shudder through my body made my hand fall short and the Easterling growled, seizing my throat and I sputtered, choking, as he pinned me to the tree.

"You're a clever one, aren't you?" the Easterling hissed, throwing me to the ground. "Get over here, you slut. Get over—"

Then suddenly he froze, blood spurting out of his throat. Gwindor fell, the hand that had thrown the knife thudding to the ground. He was breathing heavily, but now his breath quieted and he closed his eyes, fëa drifting away from the hröa.

I let my head loll back onto the grass as I fumbled quietly for the flask and tipped the draft onto my tongue. It would take a little while for the pain to ease. I lay on my back for a while, eyes open and barely seeing, then dragged myself to where Gwindor's body lay. I gazed upon his face; it looked almost peaceful in death, even with the scars upon his cheek that he had no doubt received from Angband.

"I couldn't save you, or anyone," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

I dressed the wound on my leg with some fo the binding I had brought with me then stumbled to my feet. I wanted to be rid of this terrible place—this world.

Drawing in a shaking breath, I stepped on forward. It was autumn, and the sun was setting.

* * *

 _Doriath, 500_

It was one night that I sat at one of the taverns in Menegroth, staring silently at the softly glowing faelight before me. Mablung came and seated himself across form me, and I looked up a little in greeting.

"I just wanted to let you know," he said quietly, "that Túrin, Morwen, and Niënor are dead, along with the dragon Glaurung."

 _And I couldn't save any of them._ "Thank you for telling me."

Mablung dipped his head and departed.

A few moments later Silivros slipped into the seat. "Hith."

I lifted my eyes slowly to meet his.

"Why are you blaming everything on yourself? It's really not your fault."

The ghost of a smile crept onto my lips. "How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"I can see it in your eyes," he told me. "You are hurting."

"So are you. Who wouldn't be, in evil times such as these?" I said. "Silivros, you needn't worry about me. I'll be all right."

"Are you, though? Are you all right?" he said.

I stared at him for a long moment. "I'm tired. I think I shall retire for the night." Slipping out of my seat, I slunk into the shadows before Silivros could say any more.

* * *

Twenty-nine years after I had first come to Doriath, Thingol delved too greedily and too deep in his caves, and would not part his gaze nor his touch from the Nauglamír. He withheld it from the Dwarves of Nogrod and was slain by them.

Soon following, the Girdle encircling Doriath fell, and Melyanna passed away the circles of the world out of grief and lament. Doriath, now left unprotected, was sacked by the Dwarves of Nogrod in the next year. Beren, returning to these lands one last time, came with the Laiquendi and destroyed them utterly. Dior, the son of Beren and Lúthien, became the ruler of Doriath.

In the year 505, the sons of Fëanor sent message to Dior requesting the return of the Silmaril, but Dior did not answer.


	30. Chapter XXIX

CHAPTER XXIX

* * *

 _Doriath, Winter Solstice, 506_

"Happy begetting day," Artanis said, handing me a small wrapped box.

I looked at her in surprise. "Thank you."

"It's Tarnin Hrívë," she said, shrugging.

I unraveled the ribbon around the box and opened it. Inside was a small yellow flower that was so much like a sunset it looked orange, but then if you looked at it again you may have thought the petals could have been white.

"It's from Valinor," Artanis told me. "I saved it all this way across the Helcaraxë. Melyanna taught me a formula to preserve it."

"It's beautiful," I said.

"I hope it holds memory for you," she said. "Do not forget all that has happened. I picked it right before I left; I thought I didn't have enough things to remember the beauty of my home."

"I won't forget," I told her. "I will remember." I looked at up at her from the flower. "How did you find me that day I returned to Doriath?"

Artanis shifted. "I felt something in the energy threads, so I followed it."

"For three days?"

"Yes," she said, sighing. "It felt dire."

Suddenly I froze, tensing. I drew in a long, troubled breath, and stared directly forward, my eyes seemingly sightless.

"What is it?" Artanis asked, feeling around the bonds of energy herself.

My lips barely moved. "They're coming."

Artanis stood slowly, looking forward down the path. "So this is how it ends."

I shook my head. "I don't believe it," I murmured.

"We all knew," Artanis said. "You just couldn't face the truth."

"The truth of _what_?" I hissed. "You never knew them like I did!"

"They were my cousins, Híthriel, you may forget," she said quietly.

 _Were._ "You don't believe in them anymore."

"No." She sounded so certain.

"This isn't—this can't—"

"Híthriel, you need to face the truth. They are coming, and they are coming here to _kill us_. You don't know them anymore."

I was still shaking my head. "I can't believe you. I thought you understood me."

"I am, Hith. Truly. You just—" She glanced quickly backwards, listening to the pounding hooves on the ground. "We don't have time. I'll look forward. Stall them, if I can." She looked at the city in the distance. "Go and warn them, Híthriel. You have no choice." With that she broke off into a run towards the southern borders of Doriath. We had been at the northern part, which gave us both much distance to run.

When I burst out the cover of the forest and emerged into the clearing the city was already set in a flurry of disarray—the news of the onslaught had already arrived. Clutching the possessions they most valued, they fled in the direction the guards bid them to go, but some were too late. I stood, rooted to the spot, horrified at what would become of these people, this city. . .Would this be the end of yet another realm?

A guard rushed over to me, ushering me to the others, but I pulled away. "No," I said. "I am a warrior."

Flecks of silver and crimson showed themselves forth in my eyes and the guard's eyes grew wide upon seeing my ruined face. Regaining his composure, he nodded once and jerked his chin south. "They've already come through the southeast part of Menegroth," he said. "They're heading for the main palace." For the Nauglamír.

"What of the king?"

"He plans to stay and fight them there. On the main steps."

"Sounds like the usual Sindarin bunch," I muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing." I began to stride away briskly.

"Where are you going?" the guard inquired, following behind me.

"To the palace," I said, unsheathing my daggers.

"You're joking. That's where it is most dangerous—"

"Do you think I not know?" I said sharply, turning to face him.

He fumbled for words. "Ah—no. I'm going that way. Also."

"Really." I began to run. "Perfect. What should I call you?"

"The name's Talethien."

"Talethien. Nice to meet you. I'm Híthriel."

"I hope I can prove I'm not the 'usual Sindarin bunch' to you," he said, unsheathing his sword.

"So you've noticed I'm a Noldo, and not a Sinda," I commented. "I wonder what that means to you? Most would call me an enemy."

"Eh, nothing. Really," he stammered. "I mean—" His breath caught in his throat. "Incoming!"

They came charging on horseback down the road, the pounding clatter of the hooves on unyielding stone a tempest of peril. Talethien barreled me to the side of the road out of the way of the merciless path of death before they could see us. I watched for their faces as they rode by. No one I knew. It made going on easier for me.

"You didn't have to do that," I hissed at him when they had gone.

"But I did," he said. "Come on."

"Don't tell me what to do," I muttered. It was a ridiculously stupid thing to say, but Fëanorians bursting back into my damned life was a fine excuse for it.

* * *

We slunk to Menegroth under cover of shadows, crossing a smaller town by it. It would be two days at the least to the city, most likely three. Much of the town was already abandoned and in ruins, like an old cloth tattered and weathered through long years of burdened toil. Evidently the Fëanorians had already come by this way. The clouds overhead seemed to be bleeding silver and the walls were grey and lamenting. It was eerily silent; only wild ravens flapped about sometimes, and startled us into a frenzy.

Talethien drifted closer to me at the presence of death hanging about in the air; we passed an elleth who lay dead upon the ground, eyes open and unseeing. I stopped abruptly upon seeing her, and gazed at the drops of scarlet upon her face. Her throat had been brutally slit and the blood leaked into a dark pool around her, like an abyss.

"Híthriel," Talethien said quietly, not looking at the body. "We have to go on. Please."

But I was feeling around at the bonds of energy, twisting the dimensions so I could return into the moment of the elleth's death—

Moryo was leading the company of Fëanorians across the town atop a great white horse, his face stark and vicious. Villagers screamed at the sight of him and ducked aside as they rode past. The elleth stood in the path before them, jade eyes fierce with rage. She held up a hand before the thundering horses, her face set with determination, and her dark hair blew in a storm around her.

"You will go no further," the elleth said, the voice almost a command.

Moryo's expression did not shift. He continued to lead the company forward, straight toward the elleth. There was a smaller child pulling at the elleth's arm, brown-haired and blue-eyed, pleading for her to stop, but the elleth's eyes did not change.

"Go away, you scumbags!" the child yelled at Moryo, still trying to get the elleth to move, and seized a harp from the house which had probably been their own, and hurled it at him. Moryo eluded the harp attack easily but the crown of it crashed into an ellon behind him, sending him sprawling off of his horse. Upon seeing the Fëanorians approaching faster, the child rushed back into the house and came scrambling out with another harp to throw, but it was too late.

The horse swerved aside from the elleth, and the child visibly breathed a sigh of relief, yet then Moryo held aloft his sword and swung it across her throat. The elleth's eyes were wide with astonishment, and she hovered for a moment as the blood spilled across her body then collapsed to the ground, dead. Crying out in despair, the child rushed to the elleth, tears falling freely from her face, and cradled the elleth's body.

And Moryo never once looked back.

Talethien's fingers brushed my arm and I twisted around, nearly smiting him in my distress.

"Let us go, then," I said stiffly, and strode off. My eyes were stormy and troubled, and I was breathing hard. He hurried to catch up to me, not wanting to be left alone in this treacherous place.

That day we made good distance and saw no other living Eldar. In the night we rested under cover of the forest and lit no fires, listening to the creatures of the night slinking in the darkness.

"How is it like," Talethien asked, "to be a Noldo in Doriath?"

"Not very different from most of the others," I said. "It's mostly this they look at." My fingertips traced the scar upon the right side of my face idly.

"Did you come over the Ice?" He seemed to be hoping I wasn't somehow related to the Fëanorians.

I huffed disdainfully. "No, I'm not old enough for that."

He was silent for a moment. Then—

"You knew the Fëanorians, didn't you?"

"So you expect that because I'm a Noldo, I'm in league with them?" I spit the words out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

"No," Talethien said. "But the way you looked at the elleth's body—I just knew. You weren't looking at it in fear, you were looking at it in. . .utter disbelief."

I laughed quietly. "You can be an observant one, can you?"

He looked at me for a confirmation. "I can be."

I had been looking down at the river before us but now I lifted my eyes to meet his. "Unfortunately you are wrong. I never knew them, and never wish to."

Talethien nodded slowly and averted his gaze.

"Have you been in Doriath all your life?" I inquired.

"Yes," he answered softly.

"Then this all may be quite new to you, I suppose," I said.

"I suppose so also," he told me.

I gazed up at the canopy of the trees. "We should go. We have rested too long."

He was confused. "What about sleep?"

I looked at the Sinda with bloodshot eyes that said, _Sleep? What's that? Never heard of it._ "Is an hour enough for you? I'll keep watch."

"You don't. . .need to sleep?" He sounded like he thought Noldor didn't need to sleep.

I laughed at his baffled expression. "I doubt I can get much sleep in times like these. Go to sleep. You have an hour."

Talethien still seemed to be very uncertain about me not needing to sleep as he lay down atop his cloak. The poor child was asleep minutes later. I guessed he was probably just a little older than Silivros, either that or my age, but just very uneducated, thanks to the fact that he had lived in Doriath his whole life.

Yet I could not linger on such lighthearted thoughts for long; verily, my head was splitting with the thoughts of all the memories that I had once known, once cherished. They didn't seem to be true anymore. Maedhros was here, I could feel it, and he was not the same. They were all here, all six of them, I knew, as I reached out into the bonds of energy pulsing all around Doriath. Reaching into my cloak, I retrieved the flask of the draft and tipped some more into my mouth, just to make certain that I would not suddenly be. . .crippled, if that was what it was called now.

After the flask had vanished back into the folds of my cloak, I extended the energy of my consciousness to the southern borders of Doriath. Almost immediately I found Mae's fëa. He was resting in the darkness of the trees, and Káno was beside him. None were sleeping; none were at ease. I hauled up my mental shields so he would not know that I was there in his mind, and entered into his energies, almost instinctively.

I was taken aback upon finding that he was thinking about me. He had remembered that Tarnin Hrívë was, in fact, the supposed day I was begotten, or at least when we celebrated it. In his mind the memory of one of our nights back in Himring still lived. I had fallen asleep on the couch, my head resting lightly on his lap. My hair was like a dark fan around my head, unbound and free. He had run his fingers through my hair, thinking about how youthful I looked sleeping on my side and remembering that I was indeed quite young. I smiled a little at his pondering. He tended to forget that I was so young, even though he had known me since I was little; after my nights drowning in the darkness of Angband I would never be the same. Upon his lap I had begun to stir, and blinked sleepily upon waking. He had leaned down and kissed my nose, and I had smiled a little.

"Oh dear Valar, did I fall asleep?" I had murmured, yawning. "I was supposed to be working."

"It's all right," he told me. "It's late."

I nestled up on his arm, resting my head on his shoulder. "I'm going to get fired if I keep doing this."

"You have time," he said. "Writing music for a dance is hard work."

I yawned again and breathed a long sigh. "Mmm?"

Mae laughed softly and lifted me in his arms, carrying me to the bed. I settled myself into the blankets but refused to stop cuddling his arm.

"Let me at least blow out the candles," he said softly, a smile playing on his face. Mock pouting, I let go reluctantly and watched him blow out all three candles then head back to the bed.

"Don't leave," I whispered as he settled beside me.

"I won't," he had murmured.

I drew out of the memory and slunk back into the present, staring into the shadows.

 _So much had changed._


	31. Part Five: Chapter XXX

CHAPTER XXX

* * *

"It's morning," Talethien said, surprised, upon waking.

"I figured one hour would be too little to sleep for you," I told him. "You had five."

"You didn't sleep at all?" he asked incredulously, still caught up on the topic.

"No," I said, even though at one point I probably did. "Come on. We best be going."

"What about breakfast?" he interjected.

"You can eat as we walk," I said, gritting my teeth. I was beginning to grow tired of this ellon, but if I left him, he would pathetically perish. I wondered why I let him come with me.

Talethien rose clumsily, nearly tripping on the roots of the tree. He gathered up his things as I waited, standing with my hands on my hips and lips pressed tightly together. Finally, when he was finished, we continued on our way through the forest of Doriath. We were still in Neldoreth, and still had many leagues to go yet before coming to Esgalduin.

"How old are you?" I asked as we trudged through the undergrowth.

"Sixty-seven," he said.

 _Oh, dear Valar, why does he have to be so young and uneducated?_ "Hm."

"You?"

"Around five hundred, I'd say."

"Oh."

That quieted him. "How far is the next city?"

"Six, seven leagues, I'd say," he told me.

I sighed, glaring at the road. "We best make haste."

* * *

By sundown we had reached the next village in Neldoreth, one that had not yet been sacked by the Fëanorians. Most had already left the place and headed south for the Havens of Sirion or the Isle of Balar, but I knew that many would not make the journey. There we stayed in a small inn for the night, for we were weary and fatigued. The innkeeper was a young Sinda who liked to boast of his apprenticeship with a smith and barely spoke of anything else.

"How much are the rooms?" I said, pressing my lips together as he continued to ramble about the forging of swords.

"Hm? Oh!" The innkeeper glanced at me for the first time. "My, my, you're a Noldo!" He flipped his silvery blonde hair over his shoulder and peered at me suspiciously.

"Yes," I said curtly. _And a Maia. And the daughter of the ridiculous lieutenant of the Dark Lord in the north._

"What is your business here, in. . .suspicious times like these?" the innkeeper inquired.

Talethien sighed and stepped forward. "We need two rooms, regular sized, or whatever you have, and a meal."  
"What may your names be?" the innkeeper said, still glaring at me, and now at the scar upon my face. I sighed, exasperated, but inwardly. Everyone did this so much it was beginning to become irritating.

"My name is Talethien," he began, "and this is—"

"Umbarto. My name is Umbarto," I said.

"Hm," the innkeeper said, scribbling the names down. "Églanim at your service. Room numbers twelve and thirteen. You'll find them at the left of the stairs. The food should be ready at nine, in thirty minutes."

"Thank you," I said, dipping my head for good measure, and headed to the stairs, Talethien following closely behind.

It was nearly nine when Talethien came knocking quietly at my door. I had been sitting on the chair by the fire, not thinking about anything in particular.

"Yes?" I said as he slipped in, closing the door behind him.

"Who are you? Why did you lie about your name?" he demanded.

"I have many names," I told him, staring into the fire. "Don't you know that Noldor have an ataressë, amilessë, and epessë?"

"Clearly Umbarto isn't either of them."

"One can have many epessë."

"Listen," Talethien said, eyes steely and cautious, "It is evident that you knew the Fëanorians. Or know. They're out there, right now, killing my people." His sword rang as he unsheathed it and held it to my throat. "If you are in league with them, you would say so now."

I glanced at the cold steel pressed against my throat and looked at Talethien, noting how easy it would be the knock him out. "Why are you doing this?"

"I seem to have a suspicion," he said.

"I knew them, but no longer."

"Why should I trust you?" His gaze did not waver.

"I don't know," I said.

He barked a short laugh disdainfully. "Good answer. What are you doing here?"

"I've been in Doriath since 472." The Year of Lamentation.

Talethien noted that. "You were in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad."

"Yes," I said. "I was."

He still did not shift the blade on my throat. "You didn't answer the question."

"I told you, indirectly. The Nirnaeth Arnoediad. I have nowhere to go."

"Where are you from? Who is your father?"

"Hithlum. I am of. . .no house."

"What do you mean?"

 _How could this child really be so ignorant?_ "I'm a bastard child."

"Oh," Talethien said, chewing his lip.

"Can you put this down?" I said, prodding his sword like it was cheap steel. "It's rude."

Suddenly he felt ashamed. "Yes," he muttered, lowering the blade.

"Thank you," I said. "If you'll excuse me, it's about time for dinner." With that I headed out of the door, leaving Talethien looking quite confused behind me.

* * *

After dinner I told Talethien that we would be leaving an hour before dawn and promptly went to bed. Églanim, the innkeeper, had been staring at me very suspiciously the entire time but I ignored him; for once I felt tired enough to sleep, and gladly enjoyed my long awaited time of rest which I had not gotten in quite a while, although my dreams haunted me still.

 _The flicker of the candlelights were dim and ghastly upon the walls like phantom shadows. The very air in the chamber smelled of fear and the place I most dreaded. I was back in Angband, the first time I had been captured, as a young elleth not even out of my years of adolescence._

 _Mirnetyo bent over me as a young part-Maia and barely out of his years of adolescence like myself. His eyes were troubled and fearful but he quickly masked it, turning around and calling, "My Lord, she is waking."_

 _My eyes shuttered and my fingers curled, feeling the smooth, unyielding surface of the table against my bare back. My breathing became quick and laboured as I realized what was happening._

" _Spectacular," Mairon drawled. "Now, carry on with the procedure as I told you."_

 _Mirnetyo inhaled a sharp breath and steadied his voice. "Lord Mairon is going to teach me to use my gifts," he told me, and suddenly I saw the dagger in his hand as it glinted in the candlelight. "Try moving as little as possible. It'll hurt more if you do otherwise." With that he placed the edge of the dagger upon the right side of my face, his hands shaking slightly, and looked back at Mairon for approval. Mairon's face betrayed nothing, but I knew he was beckoning Mirnetyo to go on through the threads of energy tingling around the air which I had just begun to be aware of. I was trembling with fear—this is just a dream, just a dream. . .then why was it happening exactly the way I remembered it? Wake up, wake up, wake—_

 _The blade of the dagger pierced into my skin yet I did not scream, not yet, not now, I could not show my fear. . .but I could not stifle my sharp inhales of breath shaking as the blood leaked down my face._

" _Very good, Mirnetyo," Mairon whispered as he stepped back, placing the dagger on the table. "Now. . ."_

 _Mirnetyo pressed his hands on the wound, blood staining his hands carlet, and shut his eyes tightly, concentrating. For a prolonged while, nothing happened, and the broken skin stung under the touch of his hands; the dagger had cut deep and the ivory white bone stained red of my cheekbone was exposed._

" _In a minute, if you cannot stitch the skin, it will scar," Mairon mused, turning the knife over and over in his long slender fingers._

 _Mirnetyo pressed his lips together, trembling as he fought to heal the wound with his gifts that he had been training to use as the son of Thuringwethil. Many deemed him to be useless as healing was seen as a weak gift to have, but Mairon knew it could be used for more. A minute passed. Two._

 _Mairon clicked his tongue. "Step back. There's no use now. It'll scar."_

 _Chest heaving, Mirnetyo broke away. With a trembling hand, I reached my hand to my face and the fingers came back scarlet._

" _You're doing it all wrong," Mairon said. "Try again."_

 _It was not until hours had passed that Mirnetyo was finally able to somewhat control the power thrumming in his veins, and he was becoming prideful, more confident._

" _Stand up," Mirnetyo ordered. Although the wounds had healed, my hröa was still streaked with blood, and my throat was raw from screaming. Slowly I crawled off the table and stood before him, bowing my head. "To the wall," he said, and I did, my breasts pressing against the bitterly cold wall as I succumbed. He dragged the dagger across my back, branding me with a letter for a few moments before he made it vanish again. When I was little I once read a story about a nymph whose forest home was destroyed, and the evil ones came and branded her with a_ p _, for prisoner. That night I slept fitfully, and dreamed I was the nymph, and now I was the nymph, now I was the one imprisoned._

" _Turn around," Mirnetyo told me, and I did, but the dream was twisted—for the face was not Mirnetyo's, but was Moryo's—and suddenly I saw myself in third person and I was the elleth whose throat he had slit so cruelly, so brutally, as if Moryo had truly died and he had become Caranthir, how history remembered him to be._

 _Moryo turned and the girl who had been the younger sister of the elleth was cowering before him in the shadows, the girl who had desperately hurled a harp at him in a vain attempt to save her sister, the girl who now was dead because he slit her throat too, as he would kill me, his brothers, himself—_

 _In the dream I awoke with a start, and realized that I was in Mae's room, on his bed, and he was next to me, sucked in a nightmare of his own. His chest was heaving and his brow as furrowed in torment at the haunting memory. Bending over, I cradled his face in my hands, gently waking him, and his eyes flew open._

" _I'm afraid I'll hurt you," he breathed._

* * *

The village was stained scarlet with blood and fire. Shards of glass littered the ground where the flames had broke them as they had broken the Eldalië, and structures were collapsing or in ruin. Charred bodies were scattered all over the ground, slick with ash and with blood, like cinders in a dead hearth. The steel of my sword was no longer silver, but black and red; I had killed to save. What the true meaning of those words were, I did not know.

I shoved Églanim behind me as six Fëanorians approached, glistening swords drawn like a blazing fire of their own. He was holding a sword awkwardly in his hands, his stance much too wide and his eyes darting to the wrong places. Apparently, so he had told me, he had forged the sword himself, after 'many years of long hard work'.

"You can forge a sword, but you cannot use it," I commented, glaring at the Fëanorians who had formed a semicircle around us. Trapped between a flaming building and my cousins' minions. I was feeling marvelous.

"I never found the need to until now," Églanim complained.

One of the Fëanorians leaped forward and I finished him off quickly, twisting my daggers in a few swift strokes. The rest of them shouted and came for me all at once. I smiled mirthlessly, dodging and fending off their attacks as they came, doing nothing more than making them stumble and look absolutely ridiculous.

"You are a coward, elleth," one of them hissed in Ancient Noldorin. "And a traitor. I see your face; you are one of us. Why are you fighting for them? They hate you and will hurt you for nothing."

"I am no coward," I said. "Nor am I a traitor. You are mistaken. These titles are your own."

The Fëanorian barked a sharp, vile laugh. "Then you are no kin of ours, elleth. There are only two paths you can choose. "Kill us, or be killed."  
"So be it," I said grimly as he charged toward me, aiming to kill. I ducked, sidled around his falling body, and stabbed him through the chest.

Then six Fëanorians were dead on the ground at my feet, and Églanim stared at me in horror, eyes wide and jaw agape.

"You. . .you killed them." Églanim was trembling just as much as I should be.

"You're welcome," I said. "Come. We need to find Talethien."

We found Talethien escaping Églanim's burning inn, cornered by a few Fëanorians, which I got rid of easily. Talethien stared at me just as Églanim had and I gave him a curt jerk of the chin.

"You act like you've never seen a warrior fight before," I said. "Aren't you one?"

"I'm a guard," Talethien said, glancing at the bodies uneasily. "I am no kinslayer."

I turned away. "Let's go."

* * *

It wasn't until a year later that Talethien and I finally reached Menegroth. I sent Églanim with the other refugees fleeing Doriath; he could not come with us there. For a year there was only ashes and dust and smoke in the land, and I had killed more than I could count.

I only hoped this would be the end of it all.


	32. Chapter XXXI

CHAPTER XXXI

* * *

 _Menegroth, 507_

Outside, the city was aflame with bloodshed. It was in Menegroth that the battles raged the fiercest, but perhaps not the most cruel, for in the villages there were few that knew of the skill to fight, and were brutally slaughtered. Here in Menegroth, there were trained soldiers, guards, warriors. It was more of a fair fight, one could say.

At last we approached the halls and stepped ever quieter down the corridor. It was silent—too silent; many guards and soldiers lay barren and dead upon the ground. I ignored them best I could, although I still could barely believe that this was the doing of the sons of Fëanor, that I had _knew_. In the seemingly far distance there came the faint noise of yells and the clash of swords. Talethien's ears twitched, and he motioned to me.

"I'll take the left, you take the right," he said in an undertone.

"Not a good idea," I said.

"No time for anything else," he murmured, and crept to the other wall. There was no point arguing so I sidled through the shadows of the opposite corridor.

Suddenly a gurgling cough echoing through the halls drew my attention, and I rushed over to an Elda on the ground. I pulled the helm off his head to ease the labor of breathing. Silvery hair spilled across his brutalized neck and with a start I recognized him—

"Silivros?" I whispered.

Scarlet blood coated the side of his head and his eyes barely fluttered open as he looked at me. "You were right. . ." The voice was terrible, a rasping, dying breath. "I should not have come back. . ."

I held his face in my hands as he coughed again. "Do not speak," I murmured, closing my eyes and pulling gently on the bonds of energy pulsing around him, slowly dimming. Using some energy of my own, and from those newly dead around us, I healed him of his wounds. The enchanted mist, scarlet and silver, drifted from my fingers, engirdled around me, and it was then I knew why my mother had named me for what I was—maybe she did know what I would come to be.

Talethien came back around the corner. "Dead end. Nothing here." Then he saw Silivros and the mist dancing upon my fingertips like a candle of its own. I heard him retreat, quick startled steps upon the stone floor, for my eyes were still closed. "What _are_ you?"

I ignored him and whispered the incantation, feeling the bonds of energy circling around us, for I needed no eyes to see when I could feel so much. The skin began to close up somewhat and the wounds ceased to bleed, although dried blood still tainted his clothing. He would no longer be in danger of dying. I could feel his energy shift as his breathing eased and he fell into slumber, his eyes closing. Slowly I opened my eyes, reentering this dimension, then, regaining my senses, hoisted him up. "Help me," I said to Talethien, gritting my teeth under Silivros' weight.

Talethien pressed his lips together then compiled, lifting Silivros on his own. I inhaled slowly, looking at Silivros' blood that had spilled upon me, then looked up at him. "You think me a demon."

He did not respond.

"Help him to safety. Please. Get him with the others to Sirion. If I can get to the sons of Fëanor, I can stop this all from continuing," I whispered. "Please."

"Why don't you take him back and have me go on?"

"You'll die, Talethien, and you know it. I have my ways in the shadows. You are young. You deserve a life of your own."

"You are considered young amongst the Eldar."

"I am," I answered gravely.

Talethien drew in an unsteady breath then looked to the direction that we had come. "Then this is farewell."

"I wish you luck."

He nodded and headed out of the corridor, Silivros looking already dead upon his back.

My knees were shaking and weak as I made to stand up again, but suddenly a foot jammed into my side and sent me sprawling. I crashed into the opposite wall and looked up at the figure sauntering to me, twirling his sword in his hands.

"Curvo." My voice was in utter disbelief.

He made no reply, but merely hissed, as if he had never known me. My fingers were smeared with Silivros's blood as I gripped my dagger. Uncontrollable rage surged over me and I launched myself at him, kicking him to the ground. He scrambled up but I wasted no time, my daggers becoming a storm of silver peril, lashing in every direction. Forced to draw back, he could only evade the attacks. At last I leaped up and brought the helve down on him. He crumpled to the ground and I pressed my blade to his neck. The dagger drew drops of blood.

Yet I could not. Not even when after all he had done. And the moment long ago when I held my sword over him while training swam into my head. He had refused to yield, as he had always done while dueling, and merely spit terrible puns in my face until Mae told me to get up.

But I had hesitated a moment too long and taking the chance, he kicked me off and my dagger flew across the corridor and hit the ground with a clash. He didn't try to attack again, but fled in the direction I had come.

Suddenly there was a whistle and he stopped dead in his steps. The shaft of an arrow protruded from his body and as he fell, Talethien sprang and stabbed him through the chest.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

I stared at the body in absolute horror but before any thoughts could form in my mind, Talethien's voice pierced through.

"Go," he said, motioning to the other side of the darkening corridor. "Go!"

I struggled to my feet and ran.

* * *

I remembered little of the times here; there was naught anyhow but destruction. Later I saw Tyelko, or Celegorm, rather, but dead. He and the King of Doriath had fought each other and wrought their own terrible, accursed doom upon themselves.

"You know they hate us," Moryo had said to me. "Why are you helping them? Why are you _betraying_ us?"

Never did I see Talethien again. I like to think he got away with the other refugees, and had not perished in the halls of Menegroth. Regardless I never knew, and never espied his fate in this world.

Nonetheless I came upon Mae later in the forest after it all seemed over. The one that I had called a friend. The one that I trusted with my life, with all the dark secrets that I still kept hidden even to this day—

"I regret many things about you."

The crimson of his hair matched the blood on his hand and his expression showed nothing but unending despair.

I shook my head stiffly. "You've changed _so much_." I wanted to scream, to tear at my face until it was in ribbons and there was nothing left of me but ashes and dust. I wanted my entire existence to be be utterly destroyed, for it to never have happened. Why did there have to be so much pain—so much suffering—

"I know," he said. There was no emotion in his voice. None at all. It drove me terribly mad inside, and although I fought to keep it hidden under the mask, he could still see the torment written on my face.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice breaking a little, but his expression showing nothing.

"How could you _do this to me_?" I roared, the pain that had built up slowly over the countless years finally exploding. "To all of us? I didn't believe you when you told me about the First Kinslaying, but I did believe you when you told me you stood by instead of burning the ships at Losgar. I always thought you were better. Better than your father, your brothers—Tyelko is dead now. I saw him and the King scream and kill each other. I saw him as the light flickered in his eyes and went out. Curvo tried to kill me. Now he's dead too. So is Moryo. Your very own little brothers. There goes everything. Gone. With one mistake. Funny to feel how that hurts, isn't it? How could you bring this upon all of us?"

"Tyelko led us here," he said faintly, his face downcast.

"How dare you blame this on him, and not take the blame yourself. Do you want to know what he did to Eluréd and Elurín? Dior's seven-year-old sons? I was seven when Findekáno brought me back to Hísilómë. He left them in the forest to die. What would you think if Findekáno left me there in Lammoth to die?"

Finally I had the satisfaction of seeing a slight bit of emotion leak into his face. I turned away, my chest heaving and my voice hoarse from screaming.

But abruptly, I turned back. "I thought you were better," I said quietly. "I really, really thought you were better."

At last I spoke again. "I don't want any more death. Leave. Please. Don't take anything else away from me. It's too much."

"I'm sorry," he said again, faintly. There was a moment of absolute silence. The leaves rustled. A gale came out of the east. He was gone.

Later I found out that he went long in search of Eluréd and Elurín, but to no avail.


	33. Chapter XXXII

CHAPTER XXXII

* * *

 _Crissaegrim, 507_

Unfortunately, I had run out of food, and the only water I had was from the lakes in the vale. It didn't matter to me all that much at the time, I suppose, mostly because I kept reminding myself that I was part Maia and could deal with not having some nourishment for a few days; I still had some wild berries that I could eat anyhow. Yet in truth, I had not been thinking about any of those things at all, but rather what had happened at Doriath. Now I was kneeling at the edge of a lake somewhere hopefully near the vale of Tumladen, filling my canteen; I did not want to follow to the other refugees to Sirion, for Elwing daughter of Dior and Nimloth had the Silmaril with her, and where the jewel went, doom was wrought. The water was icy upon my fingers and numbed them after I dipped my hand into it for a little longer than a few moments.

I kept remembering Curvo as Talethien thrust that sword through his chest and Tyelko as he lay dying. I could have saved him as I had saved Silivros, but I did not, and I knew not why. I had merely watched as his chest heaved with the effort to breathe, his eyes glazed with pain.

"You came here asking for death, demanding it," I had said, and I knew. The look in his eyes were answer enough.

Then his blood that had covered my hands stopped flowing, and he breathed no more.

"Did it hurt so much?" I whispered to the ghost of memory.

It was so difficult to draw my thoughts from the memory of it all—after Tyelko had died I looked around and saw Dior Eluchíl lifeless on the floor and Moryo a little distance away.

 _Morgoth didn't need to destroy Doriath. We did it ourselves._

And we used to know each other so well—until we all drifted apart into darkness. I did not know the Oath could be so treacherous, so powerful—that it would make such destruction.

I stared at the reflection of the moon in the ripples of the water. There were patches of snow on the far side of the lake and all around the trees and a cold wind blew, creating an eerie whistling sound throughout the vale. The moon seemed to be dancing in the water and with the wind, and it even seemed to _move_ a little—I blinked. It was back to its original position. I kept staring at it however, and for a moment it seemed to move again, sideways, and blended into the water until it became two moons dancing in the lake like candles flickering in the corridor. Suddenly I felt lightheaded and my head seemed to be spinning. . .they all _seemed_ to be something; nothing seemed real anymore. My ears were clogged—my breath was too loud in my ears and it was hard to hear anything else but the sound of my own breathing.

Suddenly the water seemed to come closer to me, and I realized that I was falling—falling pathetically to the water. . .then it was all around me, my body numb with cold and chilled to the bone. My eyes failing, I glanced up to the light and saw a tendril of blood in the water trailing from my body like a wisp of scarlet cloud. I smiled grimly, closing my eyes. It would have been a ridiculous way to end my story, wouldn't it have been? I was ready for the end; I had been for a long time, and now I invited it to me as an old friend. It always had been.

* * *

Sweet darkness.

Yes, that was what I called it; what I had called it since 456. It was a gift, and I embraced it, as I should all gifts, shouldn't I? For that was what I had been told—oh, what vile words had been manipulated in my mind, what ruthless seeds had been planted in my heart. You know those things that are beautiful yet hideous at the very same time? It reminds me of a certain berry that I used to pick from the gardens of Hísilómë; it was small, and orange, and the flesh inside was as sour as a lemon. As a child, I would pucker up my face as I swallowed it down, but then came the reward—why the rind, the rind was sweeter than mangoes, sweeter than lychees, sweeter than figs. I loved the fruit thereafter, and now—what a memory it holds for me: that sweet darkness.

A faint silhouette hovered above me, so pale to my eyes it seemed a ghost. My eyes shuttered, and suddenly in the numbness of my body, I felt the mouth against mine and the hands upon my chest. I sputtered, springing off of the ground and landing a well-aimed kick upon the figure's jaw. Coughing water out of my lungs, I regained myself for a moment then retaliated again, striking the figure upon the side of his head.

The figure cursed loudly and scrambled back, clutching his face. "Rhaich! Hith! Stop this madness, it's me."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to see, but my sight was still blurred, so I reached out into the figure's energy cautiously, still not letting my guard down. "Laurefindil?"

"Yes," he said slowly, carefully, "but I use Sindarin now."

Stumbling sideways, I caught myself against the trunk of a tree, teeth chattering in the cold. It was odd how I could not feel my arms in their numbness even as I tried gripping my fingers on the bole. Laurefindil—no, Sindarin, so Glorfindel—hastened over to me as I buckled to my knees. "Hith, you're bleeding."

I waved him away. "It's not mine."

"Yes it is, it's literally dripping—holy shit, what happened?" He pressed a hand to the wound at my abdomen and I flinched.

"Ah, I did not notice. . ." My voice trailed off and the ground seemed to shift under me.

"Can you make it a few hundred feet? I have bindings with my pack."

"Yes, I think so," I murmured. "After all, I made it from Doriath to here."

He faltered, and the question was unspoken upon his lips. Now that I knew that I was wounded, it made going on harder, and every step seemed like a burden; yet at last I made it there, and lay myself down upon his cloak that he had draped upon the foliage. He peeled away the water and blood drenched clothing away from the wound and I jerked away.

"Sorry," he said quickly.

"No," I muttered. "I'm sorry. I'll try to stay still."

Glorfindel worked swiftly, cleaning the dried blood away from the wound and binding it. "You must have fell in because of the blood loss."

"How did you find me?" I said.

"Thorondor espied you as he was patrolling the peaks of Crissaegrim," he told me. "I was sent to find you."

"Do. . .the others know I'm here?" I asked.

"No," he said. "Only Thorondor, Ecthelion, Turukáno, and I."

I jerked away again and he apologized. "I'm sorry. I can't control it."

"It's all right," he reassured.

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Did you ever find out about your father?" he inquired.

I stared blankly at the reeling trees above me. "Yes. And my mother, too."

He looked surprised. "Your mother?"

"Yes," I said, and I would say no more.

"Do you remember the poem on the Two Trees you told me about?" he said, encouraging lighter moods.

"Do not ask me to recite it," I said jokingly. "I was seven when I composed that."

He sighed. "I won't. But I want to hear it someday."

I smiled a little. "Perhaps you may."

He tightened the binding on the wound. "You should go to sleep. You'll be better in the morning."

"All right," I murmured.

"A few things happened," he said, quoting himself from the incident so many years ago. More than five hundred. Had it been so long? "Complicated things. Just rest. It'll be all right in the morning." _Except it wouldn't be this time._

I wanted to laugh at the silliness of this but couldn't find the motivation to. It seemed too hard to and I didn't have enough air in my lungs—

But before Glorfindel could slink away into the shadows, I whispered into the darkness, "Everyone's talking about the old days."

I sighed and closed my eyes, thinking that he had gone. But he spoke again, so softly that I could almost not hear the words.

"Because they were beautiful."

* * *

"Have you forgotten the way to Gondolin?" Glorfindel teased. "You were way off track back there."

I stared distantly at the snow we now trudged through. "Yes, in fact, I did forget the way," I said quietly.

 _I was on my knees, my wrists bound tightly behind my back and my head bowed, before the towering Vala that paced in circles around me. Mairon stood behind me, turning his favorite dagger over and over in his hands, like a clock, his countenance expressionless._

" _I seem to have a . . .problem that you may be the solution to," Melkor mused, the click of his feet crisp on the marble floor. "The second son of your beloved dead atto," he glanced at Mairon, but the latter's face remained impassive, "he rules a city. Hidden. Secret. I would think that you know the whereabouts of this city."_

 _I did not dare move a muscle, and forced my face to remain unreadable._

" _Will you not tell me?" Melkor whispered. "Mairon, precious, if you please."_

 _Mairon laughed, stepping forward. "You are so impatient for answers, my Lord." He grabbed me by the chin and struck me in the face. Blood ran down the side of my face but I dared not speak, for I was afraid of what I would say; instead I spit blood onto the ground and kept my gaze lowered. "Speak," Mairon commanded, jerking my face upward to face Melkor._

 _I said nothing._

" _No matter," Melkor said. "I have more. . .riveting plans for you." He began to head out of the chamber, flicking a finger at Mairon. "Come."_

 _Mairon hauled me to my feet and I stumbled as he let go of me. But he caught me again, and pressed my face to the wall, leaving scarlet smeared upon it. "You tell him what he wants to hear," he hissed into my ear. "I can't afford him damaging you beyond repair. I have so many more pleasurable games for you to play, my yendë."_

" _Yes, atto," I whispered, and he shoved me ahead of him towards Melkor, who had not lingered for us at the doorway._

 _Melkor brought us to the frozen peaks of Thangorodrim. The snow had built up six, seven feet in some places and there was little to no life in the tempest of the blizzard; the only trees that stood were leeched to a pale white, already dead. I could barely see what was before me and Mairon was forced to support my staggering steps._

" _Reminds you a bit of Helcaraxë, does it not?" Melkor mused, stopping atop a somewhat level surface of stone covered in snow. "Of the doom that the Fëanorians wrought upon your people. Do you still love them?"_

 _I met his gaze, my own wavering, and he laughed. "You are to remain here until dawn. Mairon will come and retrieve you, won't you, precious?"_

 _There was no mistake of the spark of astonishment and horror that I felt in Mairon's energy, although he quickly masked it with a lazy smile. "Of course, my Lord."_

" _You know what to do," Melkor said, jerking his chin to the dead tree by the side of the precipice._

 _My eyes were wide with terror and I could barely move, so Mairon dragged me over to the dead tree and bound me to it, not looking at me. The snow was bitterly cold against my bare skin, biting my senses raw, and a thundering river haunted the ravine below. Melkor examined my terror-stricken expression, quite satisfied with himself._

" _I want you to think of Helcaraxë, and the Noldor that they murdered on that desolation," Melkor said, as if telling a child to rethink their irresponsible actions._

Elenwë perished there _, Findaráto had told me once._ There in the Helcaraxë. She was Turukáno's wife, and Itarillë's mother.

 _Melkor smiled, as if he knew he had already won. "Enjoy the view."_

 _I knew what I had to do in the little time I had before my senses had completely numbed and I could no longer complete the task at hand. Struggling against the cold, I obliterated the memory of the whereabouts of Gondolin from my mind, nearly killing myself._

 _Then dawn came. Mairon looked at me flatly. "You're alive," he noticed._

 _But I did not hear those words, and felt already dead there, lying in the snow. My lips were blue and I barely breathed, my pulse weak and failing. I was no longer shivering—no, that had passed long ago, for my skin was a bluish-white color and covered with slowly blackening blisters. Mairon draped a cloak around me and felt my brow. "What a fever," he muttered. "My Master will not be pleased to hear what you've done."_

 _The words were unspoken._ You know?

" _Of course," he said. "I never doubted you for a moment, my yendë."_

* * *

 _Gondolin, 507_

I had not changed out of my bloodied garb but made sure to conceal it with Glorfindel's cloak as the latter led me down the corridor to the council chamber. The floor was marble and pristine, much too different from what I had been accustomed to for the past year. Doriath was ruin, and perhaps one days these halls would be too.

Glorfindel stopped at the end of the corridor. "Through this door," he told me, gesturing.

I inclined my head in acknowledgement of his words and drawing in a breath, opened the door. The lords of Gondolin and Turukáno were bent over a map, talking briskly in a manner that seemed like polite arguing, and looked up in surprise when I entered. Inhaling another breath for reassurance, I looked directly at Turukáno.

"I bring news from the Wilds," I said, slowly, but as steadily as I could. "Doriath has fallen, and will not rise again." In brief words I recounted the fall and ruin of Doriath, and ignored the bewildered and frightened looks of the council. When I had finished, Turukáno's face showed nothing more than utter fear and despair.

Turukáno turned to one of the lords. "Secure the borders and keep watch day and night. Guards are to be posted on every sides of the walls. No one is permitted to enter this city and no one leaves it."

I stepped forward. "Turukáno, our people are _dying_ out there."

"I know!" he said, exasperated. "I know. But what can we do against the Dark Lord Morgoth? Every day his forces increase. Hithlum has fallen, Dorthonion, Nargothrond, Himring, Himlad, Thargelion, and now you say Doriath. No, Lady Híthriel. I fear we can do nothing against Morgoth's might. We can only keep what we have left of our people safe here, in this city. It is hidden, secret, safe. The only place we may continue to survive."

"The Second Kinslaying," I said, and he flinched at the word, "was not Morgoth's doing." I bowed my head. "I take my leave, Your Grace, if you permit it." Turukáno had been High King of the Noldor since Findekáno's death, but the Noldor had fallen.

He nodded once and turned away. "We will proceed this discussion on the morrow," he said, addressing the council.

"Turukáno has never been the same after the Year of Lamentation," Glorfindel told me as we went down the corridor.

"No one has ever been the same since then," I murmured.

* * *

— _Hrívë—_

To my surprise, being in Gondolin was more comforting than I thought. Although Doriath was indeed protected by the Girdle, the Sindar consistently and unfailingly rejected me, which made the entire place seem more hostile, of course. In Gondolin, I had Glorfindel, Ecthelion, and Turukáno, old friends from my childhood. It seemed that they were the only ones left from those times long ago.

Sometimes I wonder if I could unbosom myself now—

My fears, my desires, my unvarnished truths,

All the terrible, hideous deeds that I have wrought,

All the beautiful memories like stars that I keep.

Must I conceal them?

For I am wont to loneliness, wont to forsaken places,

And have kept to the shadows for far too long.

There are things that I lock in the caverns of my mind,

My heart—that I cannot bear to speak aloud.

To know them all, to know they are true,

With each accursed breath I draw into my lungs;

How must I speak? Why must I breathe?

Tell me, now, I beseech of you, and be frank—

Do I truly deserve to?

I stared at the keys of the piano, dark and light, a contemplative expression hovering absently upon my face. The room was old and musty, and the ceiling towered high and lofty over me, as I had found the place wandering around Amon Gwareth; vines grew climbing upon the dusty walls and branches and leaves peeked through the glassless windows. The place released an ancient kind of energy, and I liked it very much. Brushing some dust off the keys, I placed my fingers delicately upon them; they were smoother than stone, despite its years. A cloud of breath formed around my mouth as I exhaled softly, then began to play.

The piece opened with a melancholy left hand melody along with seventh chords in the right hand, depicting the utter loneliness and torment. My fingers pressed so deeply into the keys that my arms began to shake, and I could almost feel the bottom of the keys as I played. Every chord changed seemed to hold so much depth in itself, every ritardando, every crescendo, every decrescendo, every fermata, and especially every rest. _Dolente_ , this section had been named, and that is sorrow—

"Did it hurt so much?" I had whispered to the ghost of memory, and now I thought of that time again, bringing the feelings back to myself.

 _What do I want? What am I? What should I ask of nature?_

 _Every cause is invisible, every end is deceptive; every_

 _form changes, every time-span works itself out: I feel,_

 _I exist in order to be consumed by ungovernable desires,_

 _to drink in the seductiveness of a fantastical world,_

 _to stand aghast at its voluptuous error.*_

Then came the section of memories, memories sweet, distant, far away, but beautiful, like an angel descending from the firmament. My eyes lifted up to the lofty ceiling of the room, tracing the climbing vines along the walls.

 _Unutterable sensitivity, charm and torment of our empty years:_

 _immense awareness of a nature that everywhere overwhelms and is impenetrable;_

 _all-embracing passion, indifference, advanced wisdom, voluptuous freedom;_

 _all the needs and deep sorrows that a mortal heart can hold,_

 _I felt, I suffered in that memorable night._

 _I took a dark step towards the age of weakness;_

 _I swallowed up ten years of my life.*_

The music was now as thunderous as a storm, passionate as the sea in its fervor, like all of the terrible, terrible things I could not bear to hold within myself—they were a tempest within themselves, those emotions. Then the section ended just as quietly as it had begun, with a note of solicitude, of sorrow, of longing. At last the tears tumbled out of my eyes as the music returned to the original theme at the beginning. It was like all had been resolved, all had been forgiven, for the melody was so sweet and beautiful.

 _Could I embody and unbosom now_

 _That which is most within me, – could I wreak_

 _My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw_

 _Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak,_

 _All that I would have sought, and all I seek,_

 _Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe – into one word,_

 _And that one word were Lightning, I would speak;_

 _But as it is, I live and die unheard,_

 _With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword**_

The music like a symphony in itself crescendoed to the end, victorious and triumphant, but I did not feel that way, not yet, and it was odd to feel my heart throbbed when I realized this. For a moment I could live in this splendour, for a moment I may feel what the music feels. . .just for a moment. . .just for a moment. . .

Then measure 216 ended, and the room was left in utter silence.

Only the unsteady sound of my breathing could be heard. I took my hands slowly away from the piano.

"That was beautiful," Ecthelion said.

I turned a little. "Thank you." He was leaning against the door frame which was mantled in green vines. "Do you come here often?"

"I suppose so," he admitted. "It is quite a peaceful place. Secluded. Isolated. I bring my flute here sometimes."

The ghost of a smile touched my lips. "That sounds quite. . .tranquil."

"It is," he told me.

"I'd like to know the meaning of that word again," I murmured.

Ecthelion looked at me sadly. "I will teach you best I can."

I smiled faintly and dipped my head. "Thank you."

* * *

*Étienne Pivert de Senancour, _Obermann_

**Lord Byron, _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_

* * *

 _A/n:_ _The piece Hith played in the chapter is Vallée d'Obermann by Franz Liszt. I highly recommend listening to it._


	34. Chapter XXXIII

CHAPTER XXXIII

* * *

"You've spent your first two fortnights here away," Glorfindel noticed as he checked the wound on the morrow I had found the ancient piano.

"You did that on purpose to make it sound literarily ironic," I retaliated, a cheeky smile upon my face.

He snorted, although he seemed surprised by the sudden sass. "Says the literary nerd."

" _You_ nerd," I accused, poking him like I used to as a child, and sat up as he finished examining the stitches. "How has everyone been doing?"

"Well, you saw Ecthelo," he said, "and Turukáno—"

"—and exchanged a mere few words."

"Don't blame them; you were cranky," Glorfindel said, shrugging. "They're fine, I guess. Tyelpe is here too. He came after Nargothrond's fall."

"Really?" I said, incredulous. "I was afraid he perished in the Fall."

"No," he told me, "and I am glad for that. He works often in the forges. Rumor says he has made something what he calls the Elessar."

"What about Iri? I haven't seen her."

He turned away suddenly, his gaze to the ground. "Iríssë is. . .she has passed away."

"What?" A throbbing sensation smote my heart, taken aback.

Sighing, he shook his head. "When she left Gondolin to visit Tyelko and Curvo in Himlad, Ecthelion, Egalmoth, and I were sent to guard her, but we lost her passing through Nan Dungortheb. She came eventually to Nan Elmoth, where she found Eöl, known as the Dark Elf. It is said that he set enchantments about her so she could not find the ways out; very fair she seemed to him, and he desired her. So when she eventually came wandering to his doors, he welcomed her, and took her to wife. And in Gondolin, we heard nothing of her for long, most thinking that she was dead, lost in the shadows of Ered Gorgoroth.

"She had a child—Iríssë and Eöl had a child, and that is Maeglin. When Maeglin was around eighty, he escaped Nan Elmoth with his mother Iri. They fled back to Gondolin, but Eöl followed them, and was brought forth to the hall. I remember as I stood there in the perimeter of the room, Eöl commanded Maeglin to return to him, but the latter said nothing."

He paused, and did not speak for a long while.

"What happened?" I murmured.

"Eöl threw a javelin, meant for Maeglin, but taken by Iríssë. We didn't know it was poisoned until it was too late. She died in the night.

"Eöl was executed on the morrow. We threw him off the Caragdûr," Glorfindel said. "I performed that act myself."

I was silent. Then—

"And the child?" I asked. "Maeglin?"

"He is now Lord of the House of the Mole here," he told me. "He fought with the Gondolindrim in the Nirnaeth."

"The Nirnaeth," I repeated bitterly.

* * *

Maeglin intercepted me in the corridors as I made to go through the Way of Running Waters, the street near the Fountains for I had to meet Ecthelion and Glorfindel for lunch.

"Greetings, Lady Híthriel," he said, almost too courteously. "I hear you have come from afar. Forgive me for intruding. I may be known to you as Maeglin, a Lord of Gondolin."

"Indeed," I replied. "Well met. How do you know my name?"

"I was there when you first came to Gondolin and announced the fate of Doriath." He brushed an invisible fleck of dust off my shoulder.

I frowned. "Is there something on my shoulder?"

"Just a bit of dust," he said breezily. "Mind if I join you on a walk?"

"I figure you have already joined me," I said.

He laughed. "You have a beautiful sense of humor, my Lady."

"Most wouldn't say so." I was confused. I had not intended that to be a joke. Nonetheless, I began to saunter towards the archway at the end of the corridor.

"You seem to know Glorfindel from before," Maeglin said.

"Yes, I do," I said. "I have been to Gondolin some time before this." Yet by this statement I was further confused, for I didn't usually spend time with Glorfindel in public. In fact, I didn't go out in public most of the time.

He pressed on. "Did you know him in Hithlum?"

"Perhaps." We passed the first archway and entered the next.

"I'm sorry about what happened in Doriath," he said.

"It couldn't be avoided."

"Could it not? Are you certain of that? It is not always necessary for death to occur. The sons of Fëanor could have been stopped sooner." He stopped me suddenly and placed both hands on my shoulders. "I've heard that you used to know them—the sons of Fëanor."

"You seem to have heard much about me." I shrugged his hands off but he grasped my arm.

"You know some things about them, do you not?"

"Many used to know the sons of Fëanor."

"They are murderers, my Lady. If you know anything that would bring justice, you would tell me." The iron grip was anchored to my arm.

"That I know, but where they are I know not. What would you do of such a matter?"

He stepped closer, cornering me and pushing my back to the wall. "I would bring justice," he said, then lowered his voice to a softer tone. "I am sorry, my Lady. I truly am. Your pain vibrates to me like the clarity of glass. I know how you feel. You are conflicted on what you should believe. Whose side you should fight for. Trust me, I have been through the same predicament as you. I can help you get through this. Just trust me."

I did not break his gaze as I spoke. "I have gone through many more predicaments than you may believe, Lord Maeglin. I need not your help in this matter."

"That is what I had initially thought also," he said. "I'm sure you have heard my story here in Gondolin. The gossip does not come short of accuracy here. I know. I know how you feel. Genuinely."

"I can be sure you believe so," I said. "Forgive me, I must be going."

The grip on my arm tightened and his eyes flickered. Abruptly he loosened his hold on me and stepped back. "I hope we may speak again soon."

I pushed myself off the wall and stared him down. "We'll see about that." Without another glance back, I headed down the corridor.

 _You best stay away from him._

 _Lady Itarillë,_ I said, inclining my head. She stood, clad in white, in the archway of a garden.

 _Lady Híthriel,_ she returned. _Come. Walk with me._

I followed her down the corridor, Maeglin glaring after us. I did not look back, but a few moments later I knew he had vanished upon feeling the energies around me.

"It has been a while since we last met," Itarillë observed.

"Indeed," I said in response. "I hear you have a husband now?"

"Yes, Tuor of the House of Hador, and a son, Eärendil. He is but a young child of four."

"Why, congratulations," I told her. "I wouldn't get Lord Glorfindel to tutor him, though; look at how terrible I am at spelling, the fruit of his work."

We both laughed. "Well said, Lady Híthriel," she said, still chuckling. "My husband tutors him, and Lord Egalmoth of the House of the Heavenly Arch. Although Lord Glorfindel does tutor him, on occasion, but they never get any work done."

"Ah, it is just as I said," I jested, shaking my head.

"My father has spoke to me of the. . .news that you brought," she began slowly. "From Doriath."

"What of it?" I said quietly.

"When Lady Irissë, my father's sister, departed from this city, she meant to go to Himlad and visit the sons of Fëanor in the east," Itarillë said. "They had been friends in Aman, as I had been also. Tell me, Lady Híthriel, who led the attack on Doriath—the Second Kinslaying?"

My countenance was nothing short of stony impassiveness. "They say Celegorm did."

"You use Sindarin for those names," she noted.

"Tyelkormo, if you must," I said.

 _You knew them too, like Irissë and I did,_ Itarillë said. _I remember it._

 _Perhaps._

She turned away. "I am sorry, Lady Híthriel. I truly am."

"For who?" I wondered aloud, and she did not respond.

* * *

— _Coirë—_

"You've never been in a tavern in Gondolin, have you?" Glorfindel said, and when I shook my head, he grinned. "Too young the last time, were you?"

"I was a century old," I complained, shoving his arm. "That's definitely old enough. Come on, let's go in; it's freezing out here."

"Fine, then," he said chuckling, holding the door open for me. "If you please, my Lady."

I glared playfully and stalked into the door, kicking a shower of snow onto his boots.

"Hey!" he whined, but I paid him no heed.

Inside it was quite warm, and golden lights lined the walls, illuminating the chamber dimly. My eyes instinctively darted for all possible exits, and I found three, not including the windows, then reassured myself that I was in Gondolin, and nothing could happen here. Laughter came from a corner of the bar where a large clump of ellyn sat. Others were scattered throughout the chamber, minding their own quiet business, or not. Nonetheless it was indeed a comfortable place to be, and I was merely being paranoid, as usual.

"Is Ecthelion coming?" I asked Glorfindel, who let his hood fall from his head, showcasing his famously comely golden hair.

"He doesn't do this kind of thing, only if he's already drunk, which you can only do to him once in a millennia," he told me.

I flicked my eyes to the walls, testing their stability. "I take it you've seen dear Ecthelo drunk, then?"

"Ah, yes. Maybe once, or twice. Nothing too interesting, really. He merely recites quotes from literature like you do, verily. Hey—Hith, stop checking the exits; you're making yourself look suspicious. It's all right, if you try dying Glorfyo the Stupendous is here to save the day."

"All right then. Go with your buddies, they're waiting for you," I said casually.

"Oh no, you're coming too," he said, tugging on my arm. "Don't you try to back out of this."

"I'm not trying. I am."

"No you're not. You terrible liar." By that time he had already dragged me to his circle of handsomely drunk ellyn. "Greetings, all y'all, this is an old friend of mine. May I present to you Lady Híthriel of the um, my House, I guess."

"Greetings!" one ellon boomed. "And welcome! We are extremely excited to have you here with us!" He took my hand and kissed it, and I noticed his cerulean eyes as he looked up at me. His fingers brushed over the callouses upon my hand where I had been accustomed to gripping my daggers and my eyes narrowed. "Dínaelin at your service, my Lady." But the others eyed me warily for the scar upon my face, although Dínaelin's enthusiasm took a bit of their reluctance away.

I didn't talk very much, merely politely smiling and listening, but accepted drinks when offered. Socializing wearied me as an introvert, unlike Glorfindel, and I soon weaved some tales of making water or something of the sort, slipping into the shadows. Yet I could still hear them, especially Dínaelin's curious, probing questions of me.

"Where is she from?" Dínaelin was pressing Glorfindel. "She looks like a Noldo and something else."

"She's a Noldo," Glorfindel told him. "And she comes from. . .I don't know, did I not tell you my House?"

 _Terrible liar yourself,_ I thought, snorting inwardly, and stalked further down the corridor. The place was extravagantly designed, not to my surprise; it was Turukáno's city, and he had always been a perfectionist. The corridors seemed to be an unending maze, its walls decorated with elaborately beautiful sketches and painting every few yards. I stopped to admire one of them that illustrated the awakening of the Eldalië at Cuiviénen, remembering how, as a child, my mother would tell me the story of the Sundering of the Eldar and all that happened in the beginning, but I had never believed those stories.

"People don't just wake up," I had protested. "How do you know that was the beginning?"

"It is legend," she had told me. "You can choose what you like to believe."

Now as I looked upon the painting, all I thought of was how beautiful the stars were, like unnumbered candles in the night sky.

"My mother told me that tale when I was a child," Maeglin said behind me. "My father didn't agree with it. He didn't like the idea that the Noldor and the Sindar were once one. He beat her for telling it to me."

I turned then, dipping my head. "Lord Maeglin."

"How do you do, my Lady?" he said by way of greeting. "What brings you here tonight?"

"A sojourner can never linger in his nest for too long," I said. "He must leave, or he grows weary. "What of you?"

"Looking for you," Maeglin replied. "An elleth strays in search of escape. An ellon awaits to share her burden."

"What do you know of me?" I said.

"You're different from the others. You keep to the shadows. There is something you keep hidden. Nothing tangible. A secret."

I laughed disdainfully. "Secrets are not meant to be told, Lord Maeglin, hence the name."

He grinned. "The cheetah stays close to her pups, especially under the pale cold moon, because she knows the wolves are watching."

"The wolves mean to kill the pups, true, yet that is their duty to the pack. They keep to each other as the cheetah and her pups."

"And sometimes it is told that the wolves howl when they hurt, when one of their own breathes their last. What say you to that, my Lady? Do you howl?"

"Perchance on the nights when the moon has waxed full with lament. The bane is ever crippling. Are you the mother cheetah, or the helpless pups?"

Maeglin chuckled. "Very good at playing this game, aren't you, my Lady? Why do you not ask of the wolves?"

I smiled grimly, yet satisfied, for I had gotten my desired answer.

"My father didn't give me a name for the first twelve years of my life," he said, "but my mother named me Lómion."

"And are you?" I whispered. "Are you what she named you?"

"Child of Twilight? It is told that an amilessë holds great meaning. Especially an amilessë apacenyë. Yet I think ' _child'_ no longer. What of you? What did your mother name you?"

"What you know me by," I told him.

"Your father?"

"He gave me none."

Maeglin licked his lips. "What is your amilessë?"

"That," I said, "I keep to myself."

"Yourself, and yourself only?" he inquired. "You have told another. I can see it in your eyes."

"What great perception you boast of, Lord Maeglin," I said.

"I apologize, my Lady. Have I gone too far? I did not mean to pry."

"Your apologies are accepted."

He glanced at the painting of Cuiviénen to distract himself. "May I trouble you with one last question, my Lady?"

"I think you would ask even if I refused."

"I would press, but not demand. Forgive me." He turned his eyes to meet mine, as if he could find the truth by simply looking at me. "What is your father's name?"

"I fear I cannot satisfy your inquiry."

"Can not, or will not?"

"Are they not the same, when one fears trust?" I said.

"Very well, my Lady. Very well."

"Your father named you well, Lord Maeglin," I commented.

"Is that so? Hm," he said, as if he had only noticed that for the first time.

"You have a sharp glance, my Lord," I told him.

"Thank you, my Lady," he returned.

"If you'll excuse me, I must be going now," I said.

His lips curved into a smile. "Farewell, Lady Híthriel."

"Farewell, Lord Maeglin." I headed down the corridor the way I had come, and he in the opposite direction.

When I arrived back to Glorfindel and company, the former appeared to be quite angry. "How dare you say that," he growled, stepping forward to one of the ellyn, a raven-haired one of the Noldor.

"Hey—hey, calm it down," I said, grabbing his arm. Dínaelin flashed a quick glance at me.

"Behold, the elleth returns," the raven-haired ellon jeered. "I thought she would never come."

I cocked my head at him in a predatory manner, flecks of crimson in my irises. "Hm. What an interesting thought."

The ellon laughed. "Why, I thought she had her tongue severed off, Lord Glorfindel. You never mentioned she could talk."

Glorfindel glared daggers at him and I stepped forward. Some of the others backed away but the ellon held his ground. "I can," I said softly, so quiet that he had to strain to hear, "and I speak for myself. What is it you want?"

"I want. . ." he whispered, and his eyes trailed down my hröa.

My eyes flared crimson and my foot slammed into his ribs, sending him crashing into the wall. The others murmured in surprise and perhaps a trace of fear, and some tried to help him up, but he slapped their hands away.

"Hith," Glorfindel warned from behind, but I paid him no heed.

"You bring your manners from Angband," the raven-haired ellon spat, standing and striding forward. "You'll have to alter your ways in places like these, little elleth. How do we know you are not a spy from that vile place?"

My form was stiff. "I do not know."

The ellon seized a stool from the table and hurled it at me. It broke upon my fist, leaving scattered chunks of wood around me. He continued to march forward, but the bartender hastened over, shouting, "Not in here, you fool. Take it outside, if you must."

"I must," the ellon said, regaining his composure. "Come, elleth. I would like to have a little talk." With that he grabbed my arm and strode out of the door, Glorfindel hastily paying for the damage.

 _Don't fight this ridiculous ellon,_ I warned myself as he flung me into the snow in a very abandoned corner somewhere in the city.

"Do not deny you come from that wretched place," the ellon growled, hoisting me up by the neck. "If you betray the location of Gondolin, it will fall, and there will be nothing left of this place, these people. You dare insult the safety of my family?"

I held his gaze wearily and said nothing.

The ellon clawed the garb away from my collarbone and traced the mark that had been branded on me, then laughed grimly. "So you are from that place."

I neither confirmed, nor rejected the words.

He struck me in the face and I fell on the ground, not protesting, not fighting back. "Tell me, elleth, are you a spy? When is he planning to bring ruin upon us? How long do we have until—"

"Naergon, that is enough," a commanding voice said from behind.

The ellon stumbled up in surprise but did not draw any farther away from me. "Why, if it isn't dear Rôg, Lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath. If you will accept my apologies, my Lord," he jeered, bowing mockingly. Rôg towered over him but he did not seem to be daunted.

"Your apologies are accepted. If you would—" Rôg began.

"Trying to save your demons, are you not, _Lord Rôg?"_ Naergon, the raven-haired ellon, sneered. "So you can all scurry back to the hellhole you come from. You are not one of _us_ anymore. You can never be again, after all of _that_. He has bewitched you to his will, and I know it."

"Are you finished?" Rôg said quietly.

"Quite," Naergon said, spitting on the ground before him. With that he spun upon his heel and stalked away down the path.

I stood silently, not bothering to brush the snow off my garments. "Lord Rôg," I said by way of greeting.

"I apologize, for I remember you, but do not know your name," Rôg said.

"I am called Híthriel," I told him. "I am a wanderer from afar."

"And I also, Lady Híthriel," he said in return, and brushed his hair back to reveal the scar at his neck, and the mark he had been branded below his collarbone, identical to mine.

"You are a brave and valiant one, Lord Rôg," I said. "Is the name an epessë?"

"Indeed. You have guessed verily, and not to my surprise. It seems to me you would know."

"That ellon, Naergon—he called your House demons. And yet you did not flinch."

"Neither did you."

My smile was sardonic. "I suppose we have something in common."

"Yes, indeed. They called me a demon, a thrall, a spy," Rôg said, glancing at the quiet city around us. "'So be it,' I told them. 'I will not cower under the cruelty of the names you give me. If I am truly a demon, as you say, then you will address me so.'" I caught the glint of his eyes even in the darkness. "My House is made of those captured and enslaved in Angband. You could come, if you would like."

I shook my head. "Thank you for the offer, but I stay with the House of the Golden Flower. Lord Glorfindel is an old friend of mine, from Hithlum."

Rôg nodded. "You are welcome to visit anytime. Yet I warn you; some of the other lords, take Salgant for example, may treat you unkindly. Many did not take your word for what you said of Doriath, and denied that the Kinslaying had occurred. They find it hard to believe still, even with the contempt and hate they pour upon the Fëanorians."

"Did you believe what I told the council?"

"Yes," Rôg said, sighing. "I had foreseen it for some time."

"I think I did," I said slowly, "but I did not want to believe it."

But Rôg did not answer, and stared at the faint lights upon a tower.

"I best be going," I said at last. "Lord Glorfindel will be looking for me."

Rôg dipped his head. "Namárië, Lady Híthriel, tenn' enquetielva."

"Namárië," I said in response, and we parted.

* * *

"Mae govannen, Lord Glorfindel," I said casually, and he spun around upon his heel from where he had been standing before a fountain, the snow skittering across the ground. The sound was startlingly loud in contrast to the quietly trickling water in the fountain under the night sky.

"Damn it, I hate this. Did he hurt you? I only wanted to celebrate the first day of Coirë," he said exasperatedly.

"I'm all right. Lord Rôg came." Turning away, I sighed. "I didn't want to hurt the ellon, so I didn't fight back."

"You didn't fight back because you are _tired_ of this," he burst out. "Just as I am. People are so _ridiculous_. Valar damn it."

I looked down at the snow, and made no response.

Glorfindel sighed. "Let's go home."

 _Gondolin isn't my home_ , I thought, but did not put them into words.

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Elleth._ (S) Female Elda.

 _Ellon._ (S) Male Elda.

 _Namárië._ (Q) Farewell.

 _Tenn' enquetielva._ (Q) Until we meet again.

 _Mae govannen._ (S) Well met.


	35. Chapter XXXIV

CHAPTER XXXIV

* * *

— _Tuilë—_

Turukáno stood beside me as we admired the gardens in the Square of the Folkwell. The garden was laced with white flowers amidst green leaves all over and there was a bridge that overlooked much of the terrain. Below the bridge there was a peaceful pond that moved very little, for atop its surface grew numerous flowers of lotus. A water snake slithered about the lotuses slyly, like a wild feline awaiting to strike. It was then another water snake, considerably smaller, came wandering through the water. The former darted forward and swallowed the latter whole, who struggled a little, but soon hung limply in its jaws.

"You're afraid," I observed, gazing at the lotus.

"You should be also," Turukáno said, as if defending himself.

"I never said I wasn't." Sighing, I looked upon the pond again. The water snake was gone, vanished into the shadows.

"I'm sorry that I can't help against the forces out there," Turukáno said at last. "It's just not possible to win."

"I know." The words were quiet, almost whispered.

"I hate feeling so helpless," he muttered. "In the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, I told Huor—'Not long now can Gondolin be hidden, and being discovered it must fall.' I remember those were my exact words. I thought I had been sure of it, ready for it, yet now I do not know. I'm so tired of this"

"No one is ever ready for the end."

"Why did you come here if you knew the end was so near?" Turukáno said.

"I wanted to see all of you again," I murmured. "Before the end."

He sighed, his breath shaking as he did.

"You saw Findekáno die," I said, seemingly impassive.

"Yes," he said quietly. "From afar. But I saw."

"Wars are messy. Fruitless victories, he used to call them. He told me you were never the same after Elenwë."

"No," Turukáno said. "How could anyone ever be? They assume you are, when you plaster on feigned smiles and blend into all the rest, but really, no. I think it will be something that I will never recover from. Never be the same."

"They will survive, but they will never be the same," I whispered under my breath, quoting the old book that Maedhros had read to me as a child.

* * *

— _Lairë—_

Tarnin Austa was held upon the Summer Solstice, the Gates of Summer it is called in the Common Tongue, and it began at midnight continuing to dawn. The Gondolindrim would stand silently in vigilance upon the walls of the city, but upon the rising of the sun, joyous songs would come forth from choirs upon the eastern wall. During the festival the city was filled with silver lamps and lights of jeweled colors hung on the branches of the new-leaved trees.

The Eldar had no need to sleep for so long, and thus sometimes the festivities would continue until midnight, as the good dances only began after the sun retreated into the west. It was night now, and many had already retired back to their chambers, including Turukáno. Ecthelion and I sat quietly at a table, glasses of wine in our hands, watching Glorfindel merrily jest with some others.

"This wine is quite delicious," Ecthelion noted, taking a sip of the scarlet mead.

"Indeed," I said, glancing at my parely downed glass, thinking of how my alcohol tolerance used to be so poor. "It tastes just like the Noldorin wine in Hithlum. I had my first taste of it as a nine-year-old. Tyelko was being mischievous and snuck me some. Unfortunately, I passed out after a few sips and he sunk himself knee-deep in trouble."

Ecthelion laughed. "Sounds like a very Tyelkormo thing to do." _But he was dead now, and none of that mattered._

The musicians finished the last galliard with a splendorous chord and all stopped to applaud them. I smiled, watching the musicians as they were congratulated and praised, then saw Maeglin coming towards me.

"Would it please you for a dance, my Lady?" he said, a hand extended in offering.

I always found it rude and quite difficult to refuse anything, especially a dance. "I don't see why not," I replied, setting my glass upon the table a standing up. I was wearing a flowing elegant gown of midnight blue, and had took more of the draft than I was supposed to in order to cover my scars with glamour; however I did not cover the one upon my face, for many had already seen it and would suspect if it vanished.

I took Maeglin's offered hand and prepared for the dance, slipping off my shoes. The musicians began to play and I furrowed my brow.

"What's wrong?" Maeglin asked. "Don't know the song?"

"Oh, I know it," I said. "It is only that I do not enjoy fast-paced songs so much. But no matter. If you will proceed."

The music crescendoed and we walked to the dance floor, then the note ended in a abrupt rest. All the dancers upon the dais froze motionless, as if paralyzed, yet we were all in coordinated unison; that was what caught the onlookers' attention. The music began anew, a quick melody, and the dance was mostly about feet.

Maeglin was glancing at the mark below my collarbone, where he had doubtless noticed was identical to the mark Rôg bore. I was glad that the dance was so fast it gave him no time to speak nor question, yet he did eventually, speaking in his usual drawl, as it slowed.

"You dance beautifully, my Lady," he complimented.

"As do you," I said, because it was only polite as my feet lifted in a _pas de bourrée_.

"Who taught you to dance?" he asked.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. "A sister of mine. . .when I first began." Iri. It was Iri who had taught me.

"There was a serving girl in Nan Elmoth that taught me," he told me as I turned in a _fouetté rond de jambe en tournant_. "I didn't know what happened to her after."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"No need to be. I had forgotten of her until now." He placed his hands upon my waist as I spun quickly across the room in a string of _chaînés_ and ended in a back _port de bras_ , arching my back so my fingers nearly brushed the floor, but his hands went too high up my waist and I flinched where it swept across the scar.

"Mind moving your hands down?" I said, with scarcely the trace of the clench of my teeth.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said smoothly. "I thought the wound was upon your abdomen."

"There is an old. . .scar there," I said stiffly.

Suddenly the music distorted and there was a snap. One of the violinists' strings had broken, and a great handful of Eldar were left squawking in annoyance.

"Ah, people. So impatient," I said as they changed the musicians. Quickly there was another set of them ready to play, but a different song began, and Maeglin burrowed his brows.

"What? Don't know this song?" I said, a simpering smile upon my lips.

"No. . ." he muttered uncertainly.

"Well, that's a pity," I drawled, just as Glorfindel sauntered over. "Do you happen to know this pavane, Lord Glorfindel? Yes? Oh that's spectacular. Yes, I would like to dance."

Awkwardly, Maeglin shuffled off the stage and I winked at Glorfindel. "You really know this one? Or were you just trying to save me?"

"I know you can save yourself," Glorfindel told me, beaming. "You don't need no ellon's help."

I laughed, taking a swig of my draft and slipping it back into the hidden pockets of my dress before anyone saw. "You're drunk. You sure you can dance?"

"Oh, I could fight a Balrog drunk," he boasted. "Come," he said as the introduction ended and the dancers prepared to begin. "Dance with me, if you please."

I smirked, lifting my chin up. "I do please. This is, in fact, lento. And quite an elegy."

He smirked right back at me and put an arm around my waist as I pointed my right foot in a front _tendu_ and extended my left hand in a third _allongé._ Then as the music began, I stepped forward in a _temps lie_ and posed in a brushing _attitude_ , but swiftly transitioned to the next pose, feeling like flowing water and the small child I was when I first learned this dance, yet also wasted and aged and broken. Mae had taught it to me, and we would dance to this music every Tarnin Hrívë. And in Angband when they commanded me to dance for them, I performed this dance, Pavane for a Dead Princess. It was the only one I could think of.

I turned in a _pirouette_ and halted upon _relevé_ , extending my leg in _passé_ to an _arabesque_ , then bent lower into an _arabesque penchée_. The onlooking Eldalië clapped and cheered, and I smiled a little.

 _Maybe I could be happy again, before the end._

When the dance ended, Glorfindel introduced me to all the lords of Gondolin who were still currently present; there were twelve in total: Turukáno, or Turgon, his Sindarin name, led the House of the King, Egalmoth the House of the Heavenly Arch, Galdor the House of the Tree, Glorfindel himself the House of the Golden Flower, Ecthelion the House of the Fountain, Duilin the House of the Swallow, Salgant the House of the Harp, Maeglin the House of the Mole, Penlod the House of the Pillar and the House of the Tower of Snow, Tuor the House of the Wing, and Rôg the House of the Hammer of Wrath. Some of the lords asked me to dance with them and I politely agreed, again finding it difficult to refuse an offer.

After it all ended, Ecthelion and I had to physically drag Glorfindel back to the Tower of the Golden Flower, because it is, in fact, Glorfindel, and he always drinks too much.

"Holmelya ná ve orco! Damn it," I yelped as Ecthelo and I flopped him onto his bed.

"Watch the language, youngling," Glorfyo mumbled.

I ignored him, turning to Ecthelo. "It's late; you should be heading back. I'll get him settled."

"Gladly," Ecthelion said, stifling a yawn, and sauntered out of the door. "Good night."

"Good night," I returned as he closed the door behind him.

I went to the fountain and filled a fairly large glass of water, setting it upon the dresser by Glorfyo's bed. I felt randomly ridiculous for referring to him as Glorfyo, the idiotic Quenyaized Sindarin pet name someone had come up with, and decided that I, too, was reasonably drunk. It was true, nevertheless; my cheeks were bright red and the floor seemed to sway beneath me even as I stood.

"What are you thinking about?" Glorfyo said and I jumped.

"I thought you were sleeping," I said, and when he gave me an expectant look, I spoke again. "Nothing in particular. Merely letting my mind wander."

"What is it that you keep drinking out of that flask?" he murmured. "You always look so sad, so frightened when you take it."

I sighed, deciding that it would only do me good if I told him. "Thauron is my father," I said blatantly.

His eyes widened, then he looked down wearily. "I may have supposed as much."

"In the Bragollach. . .I was captured and taken to Angband, for the second time," I said in a chain of emotionless words. "He told me, and bade me fight him, to prove my strength to him. I overpowered him. . .for a mere few seconds, but he grew so angry that he gave me this." I let my glamour fall at last to reveal my ruined hröa, and the scar that Mairon had bestowed upon me. "He poisoned it with a bane he calls ungolócë, Serpent of Hidden Shadow. I am dying, slowly, from it, and even he cannot reverse this curse. It is already in my veins. It has been, since 456. Artanis and Melyanna made this draft for me to ease the pain."

He had no words to say. In his cerulean eyes I beheld the utter sorrow, pity, pain. He extended an arm like he did to me that first day in Mithrim, offering an embrace, offering comfort.

But I did not want it. "I am wearied. If you please, I will be going now, Lord Glorfindel," I said, striding to the door. "Have a restful night."

It was not until I was alone in my chambers, lying upon my bed, that I dared let the tears fall from my face.

* * *

— _Yavië—_

A soft knock came at my door at a late time of night. I had been making more the draft that Artanis and Melyanna had devised for the scar, and had been heedless of the hour. Wondering who it could be, I got up and cracked the door open, letting a sliver of light enter. It was a young serving girl, and she held a letter up to me.

"He requests an answer right away, Lady Híthriel," the girl told me.

"Oh—all right." But who was it? I took the paper from her hand and unfolded it. The note was short: _May I join you in your chambers for supper, my Lady?_ It was signed by Maeglin's graceful script.

"Here is a pen." The girl handed a quill to me.

I took it gingerly from her and scribbled a quick reply. _All right, that is fine. See you in the evening._ Smiling politely to the girl, I handed the paper back to her.

"Thank you, Lady Híthriel," she said courteously.

"Thank you," I returned, and bowing she departed.

I closed the door quietly and walking to the lone candle lighting my chambers, blew it out. It was then I realized that it was quite a normal time to send a message, and it was in fact morning, and not midnight like I thought it was. Wearily and dizzily I sunk into my blankets, barely thinking of the occasion tomorrow; my mind was bent on a memory of Mae that kept ringing in my head, like a bell. But those bells were light and beautiful no longer, they were the bells of Valinor no longer. Now they tolled as drums in the deep, a tattoo of thundering echoes, crashing waves, and pounding hail.

My dreams were daunting. I saw Silivros first, dead and streaked with blood in the halls of Menegroth. Then there was water sloshing at my feet and as I turned to look, jagged rocks came rolling from the ocean in the rising tide, skidding over the sand. The rocks were swept onto my feet by the waves and wholly enveloped me, and suddenly I was drowning in the damp sand that had yawned open. It engulfed me in darkness, utter, blank darkness that tore at me, driving me mad—but the howling of the wind stopped and I opened my eyes.

I stood on the precipice of a grassy hill, breathing in the fresh morning air. When I turned I saw my mother, and I felt six again. I ran into her arms and she held me tightly. I clung onto her desperately, fearing that she would vanish into the mist. She bid me to look at the horizon of the ocean, as she always did, and I did reluctantly. But the ocean was not there, instead it was Gondolin burning, shrieks filling the air. I snapped my gaze back to her but she had stepped back slowly, and she kept walking away as I ran for her. Yet my feet would not run, and the ground was giving away—

And I fell, landing face first, on the blood stricken floors of Menegroth. I looked up and saw Curvo's body slumped over the ground, the scarlet of his blood trickling onto my hands. Then there was Tyelko and Mae and Káno and Moryo and Telvo also, lying next to his, and scrambling up I backed away from the terrible truth I could not stand. I ran into something—some _one_ —for when I turned I saw that it was Mairon. He never moved, but I felt fingers around my neck tightening, and I _screamed_.

Menegroth exploded. It was all suddenly so quiet. I peered out of the veil of darkness, and there was Hísilómë forsaken, a desolate land, like a fogged sea, grey in the years of torment. Finno stood with his back to me, looking at the ruins in such a factual manner it seemed almost peaceful. Slowly I walked over to him, arm outstretched, calling his name softly. But when I reached him I could not touch him, and I found that he was only part of the shadows of the barren wasteland. Panicking, I reached and reached again, knowing that nothing would ever change yet still clinging onto the hope.

All I could do was watch them all silently scream, the storm singing in pursuit, the waves dancing to death, the clouds painting pictures of every misdeed, every terrible thing I had wrought upon us all. The tempest became an endless chant, a flickering candle, a cursed incantation, burning waves—

"Hith, _Hith_ , wake _up_ ," a voice was calling from the other side of the tunnel. All around me the passageway was stone, black obsidian stone that cut into my bare feet relentlessly so blood was left smeared upon them where I stumbled. At the other side there was a light, shining and beautiful, but no matter how far I staggered to it I never seemed to reach it.

Suddenly Mairon was before me, so intrudingly near that I jerked backwards. "My yendë is awake," he purred, licking a splatter of blood off my cheekbone.

"Please, no," I gasped, pressing as far back as possible. "Atto, please don't." I thought maybe by calling him what he commanded me would encourage him to be merciful.

"Do you remember that question Lord Melkor asked you nearly four centuries ago?" he drawled. "When you refused to answer so you froze in the snow for a day?" I bit down a cry as he leaned forward, blood trickling down my thighs, cowering. "I'd like to know that now, my yendë. . . _very much_. Will you not tell me?"

This was no flashback, no mere dream. _Sanwe-latya_ , I realized with a shuddering jolt. If I told him now, he would know, and Morgoth would storm Gondolin into ruin. "No, no, no," I whispered. I needed to break out of it before he grew too strong and saw it from inside my mind by ósanwë. There was a sharp pain at my neck as his canines pierced my skin.

"If you will not freely tell me, I may have to break within," he murmured. "If the answer cannot be found, my Lord will be very upset. . .you wouldn't want to upset him, would you?"

I struggled to break free, as his grip upon my fëa was very strong. I thought of Maedhros, Mae—who had endured two decades enslaved in Angband and had not broken. He had pieced himself back together again enough to make me happy—make us happy together, if not for a short while. He could be so strong, so undaunted in those times.

"Wake up," the voice called again, more like a command this time.

 _I'm so tired of being strong. . .just let me feel comforted, at peace, happy. . .just for a little while. . ._

 _Be strong, one last time._

 _Then I can rest forever?_

 _Then you can rest forever._

I yelled, pushing my fëa desperately out of Mairon's grip and flying towards the light at the end of the tunnel—

My eyes flew open to unbearable pain. The scar felt as if it was splitting my hröa in two with meticulous, searing flames that scorched my skin viciously like a predator ripping open its prey. At my sides my fists were clenched so furiously that the knuckles were as pale as the cold moon, and my brow was furrowed, my teeth clenched. In the distance I was somewhat aware of someone desperately searching for something, searching for the flask, the draft.

"It's in my cloak," I gasped out. "Upon the dresser." My back arched in pain and I bit down a cry, fighting to keep my eyes open.

"Here it is," the voice said, shoving the flask into my hands, but my shaking fingers could not hold it and it fell. The voice cursed and snatched it up, pouring the draft into my mouth.

It was a long quarter of an hour later before the pain finally subsided, and my eyes cleared. "Lord Maeglin?" I murmured, the form flickering before me.

"You're alive," he said in relief.

I was still gasping for breath from the vividness of the night bane, my muscles taut with panic. "Maybe." The voice was that of a defeated, spent elleth, one drained of many feelings. "How did you know to find the flask?"

"It is evident by the way you speak, you act, that you are, in fact, quite dependent on it," he told me. "The puzzle isn't so hard to figure out, once you have the clues."

I chuckled cynically. "I forget to whom I speak."

"You're crying," he noted.

Hastily wiping the tears off my face, I straightened. "I was."

He smiled softly, sorrowfully. "It's all right to be sad sometimes."

"I wish," I said, my eyes distant.

"I never saw the sun until I was eighty," he told me, "when my mother led me here to Gondolin. It sounds so odd now, to voice it into words aloud."

"The sun wasn't made until I was seven," I jested feebly. "Finno comforted me when I was startled by the brightness, the light."

"King Findekáno?" Maeglin inquired. "The third High King of the Noldor?"

"Yes, he was my brother," I said. "Or rather, became my brother when orcs attacked my mother's cottage, leaving me an orphan."

"You were adopted into the House of of Finwë?" he said incredulously.

"Indeed. . .but that was long ago, and now it seems only Turukáno is left of them," I sighed. "I do not know about some of them. . ." Tyelpe, Artanis, _[Mae, Káno, Telvo]_ , "but they are probably dead, anyhow."

"I'm sorry," he told me. "But you do know the sons of Fëanor."

"Did," I corrected. "No longer."

Suddenly I didn't want to talk anymore, especially on this topic. "Sorry about being late for dinner. I didn't realize I slept for so long." I was still trembling from the memory of the dream, how Mairon had almost discovered where Gondolin was.

"It's all right," he told me. "You'll be fine."

Upon hearing the words I covered my face with my hands. "No, no. . ." I whispered. "I'm not going to be all right. I'm dying, I'm going to be dead soon. . .dead, _dead._ I'm so _scared_ , I don't want it to hurt anymore. . ." _Scared of what they'll do to me because by blood I was Mairon's daughter._

He slung a comforting arm around me. "Just think—"

"Don't touch me," I said, jerking away. "I should get changed now, if you would still like to have dinner, Lord Maeglin."

He was taken aback yet also mournful. "I think I'll let you rest. You seem to be wearied."

My expression was a mask of impassiveness as if nothing had ever happened. "All right then."

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Tuilë._ (Q) Spring (S. _Ethuil)._ 54 days long, starts near the beginning of April and ends near the latter part of May.

 _Lairë._ (Q) Summer (S. _Laer)_. 72 days long, the latter part of May through to the beginning of August.

 _Ellon._ (S) Male Elda.

 _Holmelya ná ve orco._ (Q) You smell like an orc.

 _Hröa._ (Q) Physical body, as opposed to _fëa_ , spirit or soul.

 _Yávië._ (Q) waning of Summer and transition into Autumn (S. _Iavas_ ). 54 days long and begins around the start of August and ends near the latter part of September.

 _Atto._ (Q) Father.

 _Yendë._ (Q) My daughter.

 _Sanwe-latya._ (Q) _Thought-opening_ , but better translated as _telepathy_.

 _Ósanwë._ (Q) Interchange of thought.

* * *

 _A/n:_ _The music they danced to in Lairë is Ravel's Pavane for a Dead Princess._


	36. Chapter XXXV

CHAPTER XXXV

* * *

 _—Quellë—_

"Are you sure you want to?" Glorfindel asked as we stood before the door of the tavern we had gone to on the first day of Coirë.

"Yes," I told him. "I'm quite sure of it, Laurefindil," using his Quenya ataressë to make a point.

"If you must, my Lady," he said, only partly jesting as he held to door open for me.

Only a few of Glorfindel's friends were there, including Dínaelin and Naergon, and I seated myself a comfortable distance from the latter, next to Dínaelin; Glorfindel sat across from me, obnoxiously making his chair screech against the floor, evidently for some obscure purpose.

"Lady Híthriel," Dínaelin greeting me. "Would you care for some wine?"

"Well met again, Dínaelin," I returned. "What kind of wine is it?"

"Sindarin, I believe," he said.

"I think I would prefer Noldorin wine," I told him, "or something more exquisite, like Maian or Valarian wine."

Dínaelin chuckled at the jest, calling over the bartender. "Two bottles of Noldorin wine, please."

"Two?" I said when the bartender had left. "I'm not all too sure I can drink that much."

"I will take it gladly, if you cannot," Glorfindel interjected.

"No," I said, "don't you dare. I don't want to have to drag you back again."

"I can't deny you enjoyed it," he said shrugging.

"I doubt you'll mind if I take it, Lady Híthriel," Naergon said, the title almost mocking. "I have quite a high tolerance, don't you agree, Neldonwë?" He jerked his chin at the ellon across from him.

"Forgive me, my Lady, but I have to say it is true," the one called Neldonwë said.

"No matter," I said. "You may gladly have it if I grow weary of it, if that's all right with you, Dínaelin, because you are, in fact, buying."

"I don't mind," Dínaelin said as the bartender returned with the wine. "Noldorin wine for all to share."

The talk was light and polite, as if none of the previous events had ever occurred. The one called Neldonwë seemed to be nice enough, although it was hard to discern because everyone, including Naergon, was playing nice.

When a few hours had passed, Naergon stood from his chair. "I seem to have a thought for some fresh air. Lady Híthriel, would you mind joining me?"

They all looked at me as I stood also. "Of course, Lord Naergon," and he winced at the title. "It would be to my greatest pleasure."

"We may return late, so feel free to leave if you grow weary," Naergon said, placing a hand on my shoulder and steering me out of the door.

For a while we walked upon the quiet streets of Gondolin under the glittering stars, neither speaking a word. Then at last he spoke again, in a soft voice of reconciliation.

"I'm sorry about what I did the other day," he told me.

I could have been but a little taken aback. "It's all right. I have to say, I am quite used to that by now."

"But it doesn't make it all right."

"I can forgive you for it, thought," I said. "I can understand how you felt—how you likely still feel."

"You are a kind elleth, Híthriel," he said. "You must be tired; we've been walking for so long. There's a small taproom over there where we can rest."

Frankly, I was not tired at all, but followed him to a table where he called for a beer.

"I generally don't like beer," I said, "but I'd be willing to try."

He smiled. "That's good. I heard you were the one that brought the news of Doriath to Gondolin."

"I did. Where did you here?"

"Some lords were talking at Tarnin Austa, and I overheard," Naergon told me.

"Interesting. Which House are you of, Naergon?" I inquired.

"None," he said. "I am of the commonfolk. Look, here comes the drinks."

I watched a raven waddling around outside as he stirred them then handed a glass to me.

"Enjoy," he told me as I lifted it to my lips and took a sip.

"Hm," I said, lowering the glass. "Why do you want to poison me, Naergon?"

He appeared to be more irritated than anything as he masked his horror. "I expected you to have passed out by now."

"I'd say my immune system is quite good with. . .poisons," I said casually. "Do you still hate me so much?"

"Evidently," he said, his voice clipped. "What the hell are you?"

"A simple Noldo, whose immune system, as I said, is stronger than most." In truth I was beginning to feel a lightheadedness wash over me.

"As I said, your kind are all monsters," he spat. "You have no place with us here."

"I apologize that you think this way," I told him, rising from my seat. "Forgive me, I must be going. Have a spectacular night, Naergon. Farewell."

I was outside when he caught up to me.

"No, you can't leave. I'm sorry that I did all this. I didn't want—" he sighed. "I didn't want to do this."

I glanced at him and kept on walking.

"Damn it," he growled, preparing to strike, yet before he could I had landed five punches upon his abdomen and a kick that sent him sprawling to the ground.

"I didn't want to do that," I said breezily, and stalked away.

I was still wandering in the streets of Gondolin when I saw Maeglin and Itarillë before me, the former clutching the latter's arm much too harshly. Itarillë was trying to pull away but his grip was relentless, and striding forward, I shoved Maeglin back, wrenching his hands off Itarillë. "Lay your hands off her, Lord Mole."

"Why, if it isn't Lady Híthriel," he drawled.

"It is. I don't know what the fuck it is you think you're doing, but don't you dare speak to me again. For once I thought you were better than how the others speak of you, but no more."

Maeglin laughed. "Suddenly so sure of yourself?"

"You're just like your father, Lord Maeglin. If you would join me on a walk, Lady Idril," I said, turning away.

"Gladly," she said, and we strode away together.

* * *

 _—Hrívë—_

It almost felt like that day I escaped the mines of Angband with Saerin and Silivros and returned to Himring, standing in the snow and knowing the cold was there yet not quite feeling it. I stood before a fountain in the Way of Running Waters, garbed in a thin cloak and my hair unbound like how Mae liked it. The ice was so smooth, its surface unscratched, unmauled, as it had only formed tonight, but in time it would crack and fall, then melt into all the rest.

I knew that Glorfindel was behind me, but waited to see when he would speak; it was interesting to learn the manners of others by simply observing. But when he spoke, the voice was stern, not like his usual lilt of speech.

"Híthriel, you can't stay in this cycle forever," he said. "It's been a year."

"Only a ninth of a year, if measured in Valinorean years, which should be custom to you. I won't live until forever."

"Which ellon were you planning to sleep with tonight, Híthriel? I know you've gone through enough by the time I've been there."

"I was thinking of this elleth, actually," I said. "I like both ellyn and ellith, did you know? But I've never had an elleth before."

"I'm surprised they didn't have Thuringwethil fuck you in Angband."

I laughed. "Oh they did, but she doesn't count. She was a Maia. Did I tell you that I killed her? I did, shortly before the Battle of Tumhalad and the Fall of Nargothrond. It was quite a joy."

"Pleasant to know," he said, choking on his words. "I thought you were together with Nelyo."

I barked a scornful laugh. "After the Kinslaying? No. Even after the Bragollach it was strained. How could I ever want to be touched anymore after that?"

"You are now."

"I wish I couldn't, I wasn't, I'm trying to—" I sighed exasperatedly. "I don't know what I'm saying. Please leave me alone."

He didn't move. "It breaks me, Hith, to watch you like this."

"Oh, I'm sure it does."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Many things; some you know."

He was shaking his head. "I can't do this. I'm making you babysit Eärendil."

"What?"

"Idril already approved."

"Ha. Very amusing."

"Is it?" Glorfindel said. "Then I am glad. I shall be seeing you soon." With nothing more he spun upon his heel and made to depart, but I spoke again.

"Are you trying to make me conform with society? With all the Gondolindrim here?"

"I'm trying to help you," he said, not turning.

"Are you trying to make them stop calling me those things, some before me, some when they think I am not listening? Do you know what I said to the last one that called me a whore? Who said they ever paid me, I said to him. He liked my audacity and invited me to his bed. I like ruined ellith, he told me."

He did not move, but stood motionless, still with his back to me.

"I struck him, but he only laughed, so I did it again. He tried fucking me until I beat his face bloody, and even then he still laughed." The snow was bitingly cold upon my face, stinging the bare skin and whirling around me. "Sometimes I wish you understood, Laurefindil."

"I do," he said quietly, his voice breaking a little. Because he knew it wasn't true.

I shook my head. "You can say that as many times as you will, but you will never know."

* * *

 _—Lairë—_

It was Tarnin Austa once again, in the year 509, and all was the same; merry dances and joyful toasts, but I noticed that Maeglin was not present and wondered if he was working on his smithcraft and mining. Nonetheless I did not know, not until later.

* * *

 _—Yávië—_

I was sitting unmoving in front of the abandoned piano, staring at the dusty keys. A faint wind breezed through the broken window pane, brushing some dust off the surface. Dead leaves stirred upon the ground, some shimmering as they caught the light.

I turned. "Lord Rôg."

"Lady Híthriel," he returned. "Lord Ecthelion told me I would find you here."

"What is it you would like to speak of?" I said, prompting him to speak.

"The leaves can be stunningly beautiful when they catch the light." He was gazing at the branch peeking into the chamber.

"Yes," I said. "They really can be."

"I wept when I saw trees again after Angband," Rôg told me. "I thought I would never see the light of day again."

"Hm." I sat motionless, staring at the golden leaves that seemed to glow in the sunset. That may have been true for my first return from Angband, but perhance not the second one.

"Yet after that it was difficult to return to my old life in Gondolin. But I told myself I wanted to live again. Not survive idly, waiting for change to happen upon me," he said. "For long I had dwelt in disquiet, numb to all else, but no more. No more, I told myself. No more."

"No more," I repeated. "Tell me, Lord Rôg, are you wary of me?"

"Why would you ask such a question?" he inquired.

"They seem to be," I told him. "They all seem to be wary of me, perchance because I am of them."

He smiled sardonically. "That you know."

"Are you?" I asked again.

"Not the slightest," he said, "but I daresay the others have a right to be."

Now it was my time to smile, the curve of my lips disdainful. "Ah, yes, certainly."

"They still fear me, after so long," Rôg said. "They fear those different from them, do they not?"

"As might be expected."

* * *

 _—Coirë—_

The night before I dreamt that all were alive and whole again, and those that had fallen into darkness had come back into the light. A feast was being held, and Finno chatted merrily with Iri as Tyelko attempted to steal her cup of wine. Káno was conducting a string quintet as Telvo listened on, smiling, and Moryo was dancing with Haleth, regularly tripping over his feet, his face growing more crimson at every moment. Artanis was arguing with Findaráto, most likely a debate on the percent of alcohol in Sindarin wine versus Noldorin wine, according to the words that I overheard. Turvo and Curvo were also arguing, although the former was slightly more polite than the latter intended to be.

I almost smiled at the thought as I walked down the corridors of Gondolin, yet upon remembering the memory of the desolation of Hithlum, what it now was, the thought faded. Itarillë and Glorfindel had put me on a weekly demise on babysitting Eärendil, who was now a boisterous young boy of seven, and I was going there now to tutor him on Ancient Gnomish Literature. Surely it could not be my fault if he did not like the topic; Tuor had chosen it after all.

Maeglin was walking down the corridor toward me. Attempting not to be too rude and visibly walk faster, I subtly picked up my pace, striding forward. Unfortunately he mirrored me and angrily I spun around to face him.

"What do you want now? I told you to get out of my business and here you are, slithering back to me."

"Híthriel, you have to help me. Please."

"No," I growled, breaking away from his grip. "You have done enough to me."

"Please. You need to listen to me—"

"I don't need to do anything for you," I said. "Farewell, Lord Maeglin." I stalked away down the corridor, and did not look back.

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Quellë._ (Q) Autumn/fading. 54 days and runs from about the end of September to the latter part of November. Alternative Quenya name — _Lasse-lanta_ , or 'Leaf-fall' (S. _Firith_ and _Narbeleth_ ).  


 _Hrívë._ (Q) Winter. (S. _Rhîw_ ). One of the two long seasons, lasting 72 days. Latter part of November through to the end of January.

 _Lairë._ (Q) Summer (S. _Laer_ ). 72 days long, the latter part of May through to the beginning of August.

 _Yávië._ (Q) Waning of Summer and transition into Autumn (S. _Iavas_ ). 54 days long and begins around the start of August and ends near the latter part of September.

 _Coirë._ (Q) Stirring [coming to life] (S. _Echuir_ ). Marks the end of Winter and beginning of Spring. 54 days and lasts from the beginning of February through to the latter part of March.


	37. Chapter XXXVI

CHAPTER XXXVI

* * *

 _Gondolin, 510_

The gentle wind brushed lightly against my face as I stood on the eastern wall of Gondolin with the lines of other Eldalië. All around, the city was filled with silver lamps and the jeweled leaves of trees as we awaited the coming of the summer's first dawn. It was the custom of the festival Tarnin Austa, held on the summer solstice.

Slowly, gradually, an ember could be seen behind the mountaintops, the rays of it shone out above the summit until the light burst through the rifts. I had been granted the honor to be the lead minstrel and so I began to sing—a soft, tranquil hymn that echoed through the mountains of Amon Gwareth. The song was a lyrical one, depicting the beautiful scenes that had once been, the ones of trees, fields, and jeweled mountains. Soon the others on the eastern wall joined in until all the Gondolindrim were singing to the rising of the sun. The hymn crescendoed as the sun climbed higher, two works in unison. It felt so powerful, the vibrating of our voices in harmony with each other, almost as if all the evil things that had been wrought in the world could be erased with the strength of our voices. Singing all together made me feel as if I was a part of something again, as if I was not exiled for who I was.

The song ended strong, and afterwards there was a joyous feast in which many people congratulated me; usually none of these people would dare say a word to me, but now we could chatter lightheartedly. It made my heart glad for this, but I was still burdened by many other things. Yet I could forget about them for now, and let down my guard—just today, because it was Tarnin Austa.

Maeglin sauntered up to me, and bowing dramatically he took my hand and kissed it. "Your voice is the most beautiful I have ever heard, my Lady."

"I thank you indeed," I said, attempting to abolish the stiffness from my voice.

He chuckled and stood up from the ground. "How have you been, Lady Híthriel?"

"All right," I replied, playing his game. "And you?"

"Delightful," he said.

"Why you sound just slightly mischievous to me," I remarked. "What have you been up to?"

"Nothing much," he sighed. "Counselling the King Turgon to not do idiotic things, of course. What more do I have to do?"

"Hm," I said. "I wouldn't know."

"Of course you wouldn't!" Maeglin exclaimed. "Would you like me to get you a drink of some sort?"

"No, I'm good, thank you."

"Are you sure? I hear you enjoy fresh squeezed carrot juice."

I wondered how he knew that. "No, really, I'm fine."

"I'm going to get a drink for myself; I might just get one for you, Lady Híthriel. It's really no inconvenience for me."

"No—"

"Oh, but I insist."

"I insist the opposite."

He chuckled again. "Very clever, aren't you."

"No, actually," I said. "I just would prefer not having a drink."

"Not even wine?"

Glorfindel was shouldering his way through the crowd. "I've got a drink for you, Hith!" he said loudly.

Maeglin whirled around, but Glorfindel was already in his face.

"Oh, look who it is," Glorfindel drawled. "The Lord of the House of the Mole."

"Behold the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower," Maeglin mocked. "What business do you have here, Lord Glorfindel?"

"I came to give Híthriel some carrot juice," he said, offering the glass to me.

I retrieved it courteously. "Thank you," I said pointedly. "I very much enjoy the carrot juice that you give me."

"Hm," Glorfindel said. "I am simply glad that you enjoy it so much."

"I am glad that you are glad," I replied.

"Well I best be going," Maeglin intervened. "That freshly brewed wine is waiting so patiently for me." And he stomped off. Glorfindel winked at me.

"I'm quite sure you don't freshly brew wine," I remarked to Glorfindel, sipping on the carrot juice. "Also this is the most splendid, prestigious drink you could get me. It is beautiful."

"Is that an attempt to show gratitude for getting rid of our Lord Mole?" he inquired.

"Perhaps."

He laughed and sipped his own carrot juice. "Usually I would get something stronger, but this carrot juice, it's not bad."

I rolled my eyes. "Try eating like me for one day. I wonder how long you'll last."

"You herbivore."

"If you say so."

Suddenly I tensed, and he looked about, alarmed. "What's going on?"

"I don't—I don't know," I muttered. "I just felt the energy tense. . .I don't know." I exhaled, setting the glass upon the table. "I'm going to go outside for some fresh air."

Something massive and dark moving in the corner of my vision, in the darkness, beyond the hills of Amon Gwareth. Immediately I spun around on my feet, tense and anxious for danger. But there was nothing. Nonetheless I did not allow myself to let my guard down, and turned back to the mountains, yet my apprehension did not prove wrong.

Too soon after I had turned back there were cries in the darkness. The massive shape had not been a hallucination. It was real. Suddenly on all sides the forces of Morgoth were advancing on all sides of the city; there were too many Orcs, Balrogs, wolves, dragons, all ready to wipe out the last of the Elven population once and for all. Howls and shrieks pierced the air like a needle through papery skin, leaving me in utter shock for a few terrifying seconds.

How was this possible? Who had given away our location, who could have done this to us—

But there was no time to think of that now. My heart was thumping so hard in my chest it seemed as if I had swallowed it whole and it was attempting to leap into my throat. I sprinted as fast as I could, to find Turukáno, to call a war council, to prepare to defend ourselves or to distract so others could escape—

The words pounded like a curse in my head. _Was it me? Did I do it? Did Mairon somehow break into my mind by ósanwë without me knowing? Had it been me who brought the utter doom upon these people once more?_

I burst into the main hall to find Turukáno walking leisurely toward the doors, chatting with Egalmoth. "We're under attack," I shouted. "Gondolin is under attack by the armies of Morgoth."

Turukáno was able to act in a surprisingly quick manner. "Egalmoth, call all the Lords of the Houses for a war council. Get all the people inside the main tower. Quickly!"

Egalmoth disappeared through the doors as swiftly as I had come. Turukáno turned to me. "How many?"

"Too many," I said. "Orcs, Balrogs, dragons, wolves—the only possible way for us to survive is to escape."

Yet before Turukáno could reply, Glorfindel burst into the hall. "Aranya, we must evacuate the people. There is no other way. There are too many."

"How?" Turukáno said. "There is no way. They have besieged us on all sides, according to Lady Híthriel. We cannot. We can only push them out."

"But many will be slain," Maeglin said, pushing his way through the doors, Salgant following close behind. "We would remain stronger inside the fortress."

I hadn't realized that I was shaking from the memory of the Fall of Doriath until Glorfindel massaged my hand as an attempt to comfort. _Was it really me?_

"No," Tuor said. "It would be better to have our forces sally out to attack Morgoth's hosts. They could potentially be pushed back."

"Indeed?" Maeglin said. "And lose half of our people in the process? I think not."

"I agree with Lord Maeglin," Salgant said. "How can we abandon our people to only death and torment? The forces of Morgoth are too many and the only way would be to stay in. We have designed this beautiful city ourselves. They cannot get past our walls, for our architects have so keenly designed it so they cannot get through—"

"Enough of that nonsense," Glorfindel growled, slipping out a map of Gondolin from a hidden pocket. "Look at this. . ."

Their words faded as fugitive visions from the Fall of Doriath, the Second Kinslaying, began to so treacherously swim into my head. Dior and Tyelko stabbing each other in the head, Curvo kicking me aside as if I had never known him, and Mae—how much terrible destruction and death had been brought upon us. . .

Glorfindel squeezed my hand. I jolted. The others were already filing quickly out the room.

"What's going on?" I said.

"King Turgon has decided on Maeglin's plan," he said exasperatedly. "We're attacking from inside the fortress. It's impossible! It's only because he favors Maeglin!"

"On that I do agree," I said. We had reached our chambers, and without another word we hurried inside to change. I slipped my light leather armor on for I trusted Glorfindel's predictions more than Turukáno's—we would most likely be forced to flee. I armed myself with as many weapons as I could without dragging me down.

I ran out of my chambers, but suddenly there was a deafening boom that shook the walls and the ground. I stumbled and bent my knees for control of balance, then fell into the opposite wall as the boom came again. I managed to get outside where I found my horse rearing and whinnying. Upon my arrival she calmed sightly, enough to bear me, at least. Still the ground was trembling violently as we rode out to the Gate. . .but it had already broken.

I seized an arrow from the quiver strapped to my horse and fired it at one of the advancing wolf-hounds.

"Stay in the rear," I whispered to my horse. As quickly and accurately as I could, I launched arrow after arrow, striking those I deemed most threatening. Nevertheless I wouldn't stay undercover for long. I pulled back to the southern wall when I heard cries, one pleading and another, a child's voice. I urged my horse to go faster, faster, faster—

Itarillë was on the ground, the cut on her face smeared with tears and blood. Little Eärendil shrunk back, rooted to the ground in horror, staring up at a figure towering over him. Maeglin.

I sprang off my horse and went toward them. "Just what the fuck do you—"

The sentence was cut off as Maeglin spun suddenly around and grabbed my left arm, twisting the elbow and wrist at a agonizingly wrong angle. He threw me to the ground and a sputtering cry of pain issued from my mouth as his foot came crashing down on the arm. Something crunched, cracking audibly.

From the corner of my eye I could see Eärendil shrinking back in fear, a look of horror etched on his face. Maeglin kicked me aside, turning back to Eärendil, but—

"Coward," I hissed, clutching my arm on the bloodied floor. "You're a coward and a traitor."

"I've been called worse things," he said, his back still to me. "But not by you." He turned at last. "I pity the fact that I had to do this to you to get to my prey."

"You son of a bitch," Itarillë seethed. "How dare you call my son that." She was shielding Eärendil from the grotesque sight, yet only accomplished by my distraction.

He ignored her. "I like you more than the others. For one, you know what I've been through."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

"Couldn't you tell? _You_ could tell." He jerked his chin to Itarillë. "When last year I came back after being captured and taken to Angband."

"What?" I jolted up.

"I'm surprised you didn't notice."

The truth had begun to dawn on me. "It was you. You betrayed our location." I turned my eyes, glazed with pain, on him. "Why would you _ever_ do this? Hurt the people you grew up with so much?"

"You've forgotten that I did not grow up here. Out of all people I thought you would understand. Do you think I not know? It is etched on your face, clearer than ink."

"I know," I said quietly. "But after my imprisonment I valued life so much more. Yet you decide to destroy life."

He sighed, as if disappointed in me. "I was going to offer you a position—"

"I would never do what you wanted of me," I snarled.

At last he turned to Itarillë. "Do you know who she is?"

"Maeglin—" I said sharply, knowing that he knew.

" _Do you know who she is?"_ he roared, making Eärendil jump back in fear.

Itarillë bored her eyes dauntingly into his. "She is Lady Híthriel, one who I count as a sister of my own."

Maeglin barked a bitter laugh, glancing at me. "So she doesn't know. Who does? The _Fëanorians?_ Does the _King_ Turgon even know?"

"What is this he speaks of, Hith?" Itarillë said, sounding uncertain. "What is it?"

Still I said nothing, but held his gaze.

He smiled, yet it was more of an exposure of teeth, and sauntered over to Itarillë, who went rigid at his approach, shielding Eärendil. "You can't save your son from her, dear Itarillë. Do you know who she is?" he said again. "The blood that flows in her veins is not of your kind, nor mine. Her blood is that of the Dark Lord. She is, by blood, the child of Sauron. A part-Maia. Quite powerful, I would say, without the poison of the ungolócë. She could destroy this city all on her own if she wanted. I daresay she would help her father do it."

"You lie," Itarillë said, but the voice was doubtful.

"I do not," Maeglin countered. "Tell her yourself, Lady Híthriel. Tell her what you are."

"You lie of the fact that she would destroy Gondolin," Itarillë said, regaining control. "She would never betray us, like you have done."

"Well, in that case. . ." He glanced backwards. "I have tarried for too long."

"Don't you even think about it," Itarillë growled. He whipped his gaze to her, granting me the chance to struggle to my feet.

He turned back to me, the corners of his mouth tilting up slowly. "This game will be short and sweet indeed." He seized a hidden dagger and hurled it at me. I rolled to dodge, narrowly avoiding the point of the blade. I struggled to stand but before I could do anything else, his boot rammed into my ribs and I crashed into the opposite wall. Yet before he could do anything else Tuor leaped down from the summit of the structure and locked blades with him.

"How could you try to kill your own nephew?" Tuor snarled, forcing Maeglin to back to the edge of the wall, leading him away from Itarillë and Eärendil.

"How could I try to kill my own nephew?" Maeglin mocked. "How could you try and take what I long for so much from me?" By now they were standing at the top of the ridge, dangerously close to the crumbling edge.

"You're no better than your father," Tuor said. "Here you will fall, into the same abyss into which your father fell."

Maeglin growled and their blades clashed. I rushed over to Itarillë and Eärendil, summoning my horse. I gasped for more air to rush into my lungs but I could barely without hurting the bruise on my ribs.

"Swiftly now," I said, urging them onto the horse. "He's buying you time." Itarillë sprang on then reached down for Eärendil, lifting him up to her with my good arm. Her expression was impassive, as if trying to shield what she thought of me now. "Go! To the Tower of the King!" She only gave me a brief nod as reassurance before they rode away.

Tuor's and Maeglin's forces had already clashed together and I fought my way through them to get to the House I followed, letting some of the draft spill into my mouth. As I ran, there were voices crying, _To the western walls! To the western walls! A dragon had broken through!_

I followed the cries to find that the air was growing ever hotter with each step. At last I burst into the opening, finding not one, but two dragons roaring as they broke through the crumbling walls. I was knocked to the ground by the hammering force and had to elude the bits of stone falling from the air. Suddenly there was a war cry, loud and clear. Ecthelion charged, sword held high in the air, a dangerous challenge to his opponents. His host rammed into Morgoth's forces head-on and behind them came Glorfindel and his force. I leaped into the battle, making sure my injured arm was not flailing around.

There came a horn behind us and I turned to see Tuor riding through, fighting alongside Ecthelion, two great lords mighty in battle. They slew Orc chieftains mercilessly and struck down the growling Wargs. . .

But against the two dragons and several Balrogs coming behind them, we were nothing.

A great dragon suddenly hurled itself toward us, killing Elf and Orc alike. The dragon opened its jaws, roaring fire into the host, and I choked as I was flung to the dust, the massive claws barely grazing me. I took cover behind a ruined pillar, where I found myself next to Glorfindel and Ecthelion.

"What happened to your arm?" Ecthelion breathed in horror. The dragon spat fire again and we were forced deeper into cover.

"Maeglin," I said. "He has betrayed us. It was him that betrayed Gondolin's location."

"And we've fallen straight into his trap," Glorfindel hissed.

Ecthelion opened his mouth to speak but suddenly the ground jolted violently and the wall we had been taking cover behind dissolved into pieces. I was flung somewhere into the rubble, and choking on the dust, I attempted to claw my way out of the broken stones. I managed to uncover most of my body but my foot was stuck.

The dragon was gone; a vast rift had been carved into the walls, but there towering in front of me was a flaming Balrog, brandishing its fiery whip. I grunted, struggling to free myself from the rubble, as the Balrog turned its menacing gaze on me. The whip raised and fell, and had nearly struck me when suddenly Ecthelion launched himself out of nowhere and shielded me from the attack, but it caught his left arm. His shrieking yelp of pain made me feel so helpless, so useless, so _terrible_ as his arm was shredded to bloody ribbons. Tuor came hastening out of the smoke to battle the Balrog alongside Ecthelion as Glorfindel rushed to me, freeing me from the rubble rock by rock. When I at last was able to stand, we could no longer hold the walls, and our Noldorin host was forced to fall back to the Square of the King.

"Where are the forces of the House of Duilin? And of Penlod?" I managed to gasp out as we were pushed back.

"All of them were slaughtered," Glorfindel said grimly. "And the House of Rôg also."

 _Rôg? He was. . .dead?_ "There are barely any of us left," I murmured. I did not expect him to hear me over the clamor but he sighed.

"At least some of us may be able to come out alive," he said.

Finally we had reached the Square where Turgon and his host reinforced us. We flew through their soldiers and immediately after they turned the points of their spears to the advancing Balrog. But this was not any Balrog; it was Gothmog. The one that had killed Findekáno.

"Leithio i philin!" Turgon shouted, and arrows like a storm cloud flew into the Orcs in the front, however Gothmog seemed barely harmed by the onslaught. A dragon roared in the rear of the host of Orcs but was advancing quickly to us—

They plowed into us as if our spears were toothpicks. There was nothing to do except to flee and take cover; there was nothing left but death upon us. Gothmog had taken Tuor by surprise with his whip flailing all around and the latter was forced into a corner in which he could not escape. I seized a fallen spear from the ground and flung it at the Balrog's back, a desperate chance for Tuor to get out. Gothmog reared, temporarily distracted, and Tuor hurled himself away. Gothmog smashed his fist into the collapsing wall, and I was about to seize another spear when a Warg and its rider barreled into me. I cried out as my broken arm was smashed to the ground yet my other hand was still free. I twisted my wrist, an attempt to reach the dagger at my hip, and drove it into the Warg's body just as its jaws gaped wide. The Orc rider hissed and raised its dagger. I managed to stretch my arm farther, stabbing it in the back. Grunting, I shoved myself out from under the Warg carcass and plunged the dagger into its neck. Yet I did not stop to see the black blood gush out of the wound, for Ecthelion had thrust himself in front of Gothmog, brandishing his sword.

I did not know I had cried his name aloud until he turned his desperate, pleading eyes to me, yet I could not do what he asked. I could not let him sacrifice himself for the others to escape, I could not lose one more person so dear to me—

 _Please, no_ , I begged in my returning gaze, but he had already decided.

My gaze passed over the dead Gondolindrim on the ground, cold grey stones on a lonely hill, and in the mist the bitter blood like ash flecked their faces. How much more death until this war was over?

The other Ñoldoli were taking the chance to flee to the Tower of the King, streaming through the corpses, trampling them.

I flicked my eyes back to Ecthelion, who had already turned to face his towering opponent. Slashing at the attacking Orcs, I fought my way to Glorfindel, who was defending the rear. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. Something jerked in the corner of my vision and I twisted around. Ecthelion was diving around the broken structures, making sure that Gothmog paid no heed to the escaping Gondolindrim.

There was nothing to do except to defend the rear, and with each breath Ecthelion drew farther and farther away from us. Wasn't there a way, wasn't there a way for him to get out? I couldn't abandon him there, I could not, not for my life, not for the lives of the other Gondolindrim. . .

But I was.

Suddenly there was a cry in the havoc of the battle and I wheeled around to find Ecthelion thrown to the stone walls, his sword far out of reach; Gothmog had crushed and ruined his right arm. Glorfindel grabbed my arm to keep me from running to him, and I cursed, but stayed back. It would have been impossible anyway; the Orcs were too many, and they kept streaming through.

And beyond the river of Orcs, Gothmog raised his whip for the final blow. Glorfindel tightened his grip on my arm, trying to make sure I would not run there and be slaughtered myself. I could break free, but I had not the strength to, nor the will. Then as I awaited his death, right as the whip whistled as it fell, Ecthelion jumped, and slipping his helmet off he drove the spike into Gothmog's chest. Gothmog roared and Ecthelion pushed harder and forcing the former to lose his balance, toppling backwards into the Fountain of the King.

I thought I would have screamed when Ecthelion disappeared beneath the surface of the water but the shock had taken utter hold of me. I would have lingered for him to maybe miraculously leap out of the water if an Orc blade had not slashed at me, leaving blood in its wake.

The last of the Gondolindrim fell back to the only fortified place left—the Tower of the King.

Turukáno summoned the remaining lords to him, where he tossed his crown to the ground, lamenting the city's destruction and his dismissal of his council's advice. He declared Tuor to be the leader of Gondolin and asked him to lead the survivors out of the city.

Then after most had departed, I went to Turukáno. "What are you going to do?"

"Distraction," he said.

He would say no more, and with the remaining survivors I fled to the secret tunnel that Idril had constructed for our escape. I had just reached the base of the tower when I heard Turukáno's voice at the highest peak, shouting, "Great is the victory of the Ñoldoli!" The Orcs mocked the cry but Turukáno refused to leave the city with us, and I never saw what terrible fate awaited him. _He was guilty of hiding all these years, and wanted to give his last for the race of the Eldalië to live._

And as we went through the tunnel, long and winding, the city burned on the surface.

When at last we burst into the open air and reached the mountain pass, Tuor led us forward; we needed to get away as far as possible. I barely registered what was happening as we passed through Echoriad, the Vale of Tumladen, Cirith Thoronath—all I knew was that I had lost another I had loved, and we would never meet again, not even in dreams.


	38. Chapter XXXVII

CHAPTER XXXVII

* * *

I remember my first kill—when I was nine. It was at the time that the Noldor made camp around Lake Mithrim awaiting a response from Angband of Ñolofinwë's challenge. Finno and I had gone hunting around the lake, searching for things to eat. A little time before, he had taught me to shoot a bow, and prior to the hunting trip he gave me a short dagger with a cerulean-jeweled hilt.

"Lest anything happens," he had told me with a slight wink.

Nervously, I had let him strap the blade onto my belt. "There you go," Finno said, straightening and admiring it. "You look like a warrior princess."

I smiled shyly and stood up straighter, making him laugh.

"Come on then, let's go," he said, slinging his quiver upon his back.

We had walked a few leagues or so around Lake Mithrim before I finally spotted a rabbit along the brush, but when Finno pulled taut his bowstring, I whispered frantically, "You're going to shoot at her?"

Finno glanced at the rabbit then lowered his bow. "There are many things in the world that you do not yet understand. We have barely any other source of food at the moment, and until we begin to build our fortresses and found our kingdoms we will have to rely on this." _He thought we would stay here, and rule this land freely._

"I've never eaten another animal before," I said, crinkling up my nose. "Ammë always told me that we were all connected, and should not eat nor kill each other." _The Kinslayings, oh the Kinslayings._

"Unless in dire need, titta nettë," Finno reminded me. "We must survive."

"So do they," I objected. "No one eats us."

"Oh, but they might begin to," he said, likely thinking of Morgoth. "Or we will wrought our own doom upon ourselves." The rabbit had vanished by now, and he slid the arrow back into the quiver. "Come on now. It is time we find another one."

My ears twitched as they heard the slight rustle of movement in the undergrowth and I crept towards it cautiously, quiet as a cat. The susurration of the leaves came again, and I stayed motionless, suddenly feeling as if something was amiss; the sounds came from all different directions, whispering and sighing like the wind, yet not. A shadow of a brier shrub was cast upon the ground, and I had barely glanced at it until it _moved_ , forming a head and arms and a body—

I stumbled back, calling out in fear as an orc towered over me. Immediately Finno was there, and I heard the echoing ring as he unsheathed his sword, descending upon the patrol of three orcs around me. For a moment that was longer than a moment, I was rooted to the ground in terror as he battled the orcs.

"Your dagger, Hith!" Finno called, motioning as best he could with the little time he had to my belt.

I retreated backwards as the orcs drew nigh to me, their black steel flashing like obsidian and my fingers fumbled for the short knife at my belt, but I could barely turn my gaze from the snarling orcs and the clashing blades. There was a shout in the havoc; Finno had successfully taken out one of them, yet it only caused them to press forward harder. At last I had untangled the knife from my belt, and clutching onto the hilt desperately until my knuckles were white, I stepped forward uncertainly, my legs shaking so violently that I could barely walk unswerving.

Finno gave a sharp cry as one of the orcs' blades grazed his arm, the blood welling out of the wound and staining the ground. My fingers had numbed from gripping my dagger, but I did not know what to do; the blade was too short to charge and they were too close for me to throw, I might have hit Finno if I did. He lashed out at them, catching one in the stomach and sending it sprawling, then sprang at the fallen orc, piercing it through the chest; yet even as he did so, the last orc wrestled him to the ground and knocked the sword out of his hand, pressing a jagged knife to his throat.

Somehow I stood my ground and kept my grasp on the dagger he had given me, even as the orc turned its gaze to me.

"Come here, little one," the orc cooed as the knife upon Finno's neck drew blood.

Slowly I stepped forward, fearing what he would do if I did not. I was close enough to stab him now, and as if sensing this, he laughed.

"You won't use that on me," he simpered. "It'll hurt. You don't want that, do you?" Again he laughed at my terrified expression, my breath coming in short gasps. "What is your name, little one?"

My lips barely moved. "Híthriel."

"That's a pretty name," the orc leered at me. "Is this one a brother of yours?"

I nodded ever so slightly.

"Good," he drawled. "Then look at his face, and feel his pain."

The orc slammed a knee into Finno's stomach and he doubled over, sucking a breath in, closing his eyes so I would not see his pain. It happened again and again and again until the orc missed a beat and Finno struggled out of his grasp, lashing out with his fists, but the orc hissed and seized my arm, dragging me backwards and instead pressing the dagger against my throat.

The cerulean-jeweled dagger was still in my hand, but the orc hardly seemed to notice, or perhaps he thought I was too frightened to use it. Finno had retrieved his sword, his form taut with tension. The roots of my hair hurt as the orc gripped it, shaking my head roughly.

"Unhand the sword," the orc growled.

Finno froze for a moment then let the blade fall. _Hith,_ he told me, using sanwë-latya. _Use the dagger. This is our only chance._

The orc was speaking too although I barely heard it. He grabbed me by the hair and hauled me over, then in a sudden, unanticipated movement, he seized Finno by the neck, strangling him—

I thrust my dagger into the orc's stomach, but it didn't seem to do enough damage so I stabbed him again and again and again in unquenchable, wild fury until he fell to the ground, dead, the last of his blood pooling out of his body; yet even then I could not stop. I thought of my mother, and the kind elleth in the village she used to take me to, then what the orc had done to Finno. What they had all done to me.

At last the fever of rage passed, and I fell to my knees in horror at what I had done. Tears escaped out of my eyes and Finno enveloped me in his arms, holding me close. I almost felt safe.

"It's all right now," he murmured. "It's all right."

* * *

When we halted to rest, I went to look after Eärendil in place of Hendor, who had gone to wash the blood off his body. Hendor was a House-carle of Itarillë, and had carried Eärendil to safety in the Fall. Although we did not speak at first as I tended to things about, he finally murmured, "Thank you for saving nana and I."

"It was the only thing I could do," I said quietly.

He sighed. "Where is Lord Ecthelion?"

I stiffened suddenly and the memory of him falling into the water with his arms ruined came flooding back to me. . .And little Eärendil didn't know, how could he bear the news, he was only a little child. . .

"I wish he were here, to play to me on his flute or to make me willow whistles," Eärendil said softly. "His songs are so beautiful." Were. _Were._

Hastily I wiped the tears away. "You should be getting to sleep."

I helped him get comfortable and stayed there until the embers of the fire died out. I went away then and stood gazing at the remnants of the burning city beyond. It was a starless night, as the smoke of the burning city shrouded the lights in the sky; the darkness felt yawning and deep, befouled and empty in the abyss of death. Upon feeling a light hand on my arm, I looked up to find Glorfindel.

"I know," he whispered. "I know. But we've gotten out. There are still survivors. There is hope for our people."

I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded. My fingers curled and loosened again, but I did not speak. There was nothing to say.

Dawn was nearly upon us; the grey clouds were now lined with shimmering silver. Perhaps now we could find peace, but how could we after it all. . .how could we find peace again with so much terrible injustice in the world? The camp was quiet—quiet after the haunting destruction of our city, our friends, our kin; the memory of this bitter loss would prey on us for many long years yet.

Then over the hills there was sudden fire, a bitter crimson fire that burned as the naked flames of Anar herself and launched onto the plateau—a Balrog had somehow flown unseen and rammed itself into the survivors. I growled, a menacing challenge to the last flight, and sprinted toward it, unsheathing my sword. Springing up, I drove the blade into its thigh, and the Balrog reeled backwards, toppling over the slope. Keeping a firm grip on my sword, I unfurled my wings beyond the sight of the Gondolindrim, and yanked it out roughly, barely having the time to steady myself before tumbling onto the rock. The Balrog thudded onto its back on a small ledge, a little away from me.

Yet it rose up faster than I had anticipated and whipped its fiery thong at me. I was thrown back but I beat my wings in a wide arc, creating a storm of wind in order to wheel away from the rock. The whip lashed again and again, and I struggled to avoid it.

Suddenly it was all around me, and as soon as I went right it was there and when I turned left it was there too. It seemed as if I was trapped in a cage with bars that moved with every one of my movement so I could not struggle, I could not even try to get out—

I lurched away from it but it had entwined itself along my ankle and I was knocked to the ground. The whip engirdled me in its piercing fire and I cried aloud as it hurled me into the ridge. The Balrog snarled and thrashed its whip menacingly. I hung over the side of the rock, pretending to be defeated, but prepared the muscles in my back for flight.

As it took just one step too close, I granted myself a few preparing steps and launched myself into the air, piercing the Balrog in the shoulder. Again it lost its balance and tumbled over the side of the cliff, but the fall was too short and I had no time to wrench myself out before the impact of it flung me to the side. I furrowed my brows exasperatedly at my sword that was still in its shoulder. Most would have been in horror, but I knew of that no more.

There was no time to evade the attack before it fell upon me. Again and again the Balrog threw me against the rocks, too quickly for me to fight back. I smiled grimly as it all grew numb and senseless, at last now physically, for I had been that mentally and emotionally for too long. Perhaps I really had become a warrior like how I wanted to be as a child. _Warriors die valiant deaths,_ Finno had told me, and that was what I had sought: a valiant way to end my existence here in Endórë.

Yet then a figure sprang down from the rock and landed between the Balrog and I. Between my split lashes I peered up at the figure and saw the bright golden hair flowing.

"How—how did you scale that fucking rock?" I muttered, and let my head fall back at last. I could have sworn I saw him smile humorlessly at me before I fell into darkness.

* * *

It seemed as if a few hours had gone by for the sun had risen higher when I regained consciousness once more. Jolts of movement startled me awake and I saw Glorfindel and the Balrog at the summit of a steep ledge; the Balrog beginning to move sluggishly as he sprang from rock to rock, stabbing it at a speed in which it could not block. Although they were both tiring, the former was evidently more than the latter.

The Balrog's fire was gone; it had blackened into ash, and rocks tumbled off the cliff and disintegrated in the abyss below as they fought. He leaped up suddenly and drove his blade into the Balrog's arm, pushing until the arm came hewed off. As the Balrog was roaring in agony, he jumped and plunged his sword into its shoulder, then rearing, it clawed at him but he kept his grip and they swayed dangerously upon the precipice.

Clinging onto the hilt still embedded in its shoulder, he seized a dagger from his belt and thrust it into the Balrog's belly. It shrieked and fell off the ridge as he collapsed off onto land. At last I breathed again and sighed, lolling my head backwards. But the Balrog falling grasped his hair and them both fell into the yawning abyss beyond.

No scream in the entirety of Arda could have relieved the pain—the utter loss that engulfed me into darkness.

I didn't care what the Gondolindrim would see—I merely mounted into the air and nearly collapsed to the ridge where he had fallen. I rushed to his body, broken on the unrelenting, merciless rocks. Although his eyes were closed, as if he was merely sleeping, his neck was broken at a terribly wrong angle and scarlet dribbled out of a deep gash on his face. The blood on his body seeped onto my hands, my arms, my own body. No, this wasn't possible. This _could not_ be possible. Didn't he just tell me everything would be all right? Didn't that just happen? Didn't he just say that there was still hope for us all. . .Didn't he? Didn't he?

I don't know how long I cradled his broken body in my arms, but after long there was a soft swishing sound behind me. It was Thorondor. Gently I lifted him onto his back and climbed on myself. Thorondor rose into the air and glided with the wind until we came to a green hill at the top of somewhere. There we buried him with a mound of stones in the pass.

I drew out the small golden flower that Artanis had given me from Valinor. It was crushed; the petals were broken and chalked with grime and dust, but it was all I had. I rested it on the mound lightly. . .

Then softly I began to sing, a murmured hymn that had been made once long ago—the poem I had promised he would hear someday. The diction was simple but the words had a elegant, nostalgic lilt to it; as I sang the blurred memories of the past faded into my mind then vanished. Once I had been a child living in isolation with her mother, upon the shores of a tranquil sea, but no more.

The song ended as quietly as it had begun.

"Namárië, meldonya melda," I whispered.

* * *

Eldarin References:

 _Titta nettë._ (Q) Little sister.

 _Námarië, meldonya melda._ (Q) Farewell, beloved friend.


	39. Chapter XXXVIII

CHAPTER XXXVIII

* * *

With all the wounded and the burden of wearied hearts, the long journey from Gondolin to Sirion lasted two years.

Tuor and Itarillë led the survivors to the last dwelling in Beleriand that had not yet been destroyed, whether it was by Morgoth or forces of our own—the Havens of Sirion, in the very south of the Lands to the North. From Crissaegrim down the Dry River, we followed the River Sirion south through the ruins of Doriath and Aelin-uial. If we kept to the river and did not stray, eventually we would reach Sirion, but the journey was long and toilsome.

The first night a young babe died of a wound he had received when a tower collapsed upon his legs, immobilizing him. The mother's cries of grief lasted all night, a constant wail of _why? Why me?_ She could only dig a shallow grave for her son, unmarked, unmade by the wolves in the night. Then the second night we were forced to mercy-kill an ellon who could scarcely breathe for the knife wound in his throat, and after his brother would speak to no other for a moon and a half. The third night an elleth threw herself off a ravine after seeing ghosts of her mother and brother that had died in the Fall. She had none left to mourn her passing, for they were all gone.

After that I stopped counting the dead.

A fortnight later, Naergon, the one that had victimized me for being what I was and tried to poison me, had ruined his right arm in the Fall, and I was sent to tend to the wound.

"Get away from me, you whore," he hissed, shielding his mutilated arm away from me. "Don't touch me."

I did not flinch to the words, but looked upon him with pity and sadness. "I can help you."

"Naergon, let her do it," Itarillë said, passing by.

Although his expression barely changed, he turned so I could examine the wound, and said no word. Gently I peeled the dressing away and he hissed, gritting his teeth.

"Stay still," I murmured. The skin around it was crimson and swelling, and a red streak ran from the torn skin toward his heart; the wound had been infected badly. I sighed, showing the slightest clench in my jaw. "I'm going to need to amputate it."

"What?" he said sharply. "What do you mean?"

"It will spread if we do not do so," I told him. "There is no other way."

"You lie," he hissed. "You only want me to be broken and crippled as you are."

"Aren't we all?" I said quietly.

His eyes were frightened and unwilling as they met mine, until at last he dropped his gaze and his hostile demeanor returned. "Cut the whole thing off," he muttered. "I don't want to have half an arm."

"Are you sure you want to do it now?" I said softly.

"When else am I going to do it? Might as well be finished with the task." Naergon jerked his chin to some of the other healers. "Go on. Call them over."

I nodded and did as he bid, going to the others and explaining to them what needed to be done. When I returned with them, he had pressed his lips together in a tight line and his brow was furrowed, fearing what would happen. Quietly I noticed the mark just beneath his collarbone, just where mine was, where Rôg's was, where Mae's was.

We gave him as many of the analgesic willow bark we could afford, then began the procedure. I tried to ease his pain by manipulating his emotions, pulling at the bonds of energy around us all to make it easier, but it was still so hard, and the screams rung in my head even many hours later.

When it was over, the bleeding adequately staunched and the skin flaps sewed together, he shifted his head to me, his eyes only partially open and dizzy with pain. The voice was barely a whisper as he spoke, the words scarcely heard. "Neldonwë's dead, did you know? He was my brother, and when the Warg came for him, I charged and it did this to my arm. The Warg still got him, of course, and I could do nothing."

"I'm sorry." My voice was nearly as faint as his was. There was a difficult silence. "Close your eyes and rest. It will only do you good if you do so."

Almost immediately his eyes fluttered in exhaustion. "Neldonwë's dead."

"I know," I murmured.

"Neldonwë's dead. He's dead. My brother's dead."

The whisper of those words upon his tongue came over and over again, until they died upon his lips and his eyes closed at last.

* * *

For long we rested in Nan-tathren, Land of Willows, south of the ruins of Doriath and north of the Havens of Sirion. There it was said that the power of Ulmo was strong in the presence of the River Sirion, and some were healed of their hurts and sorrows in the land, yet never could we rid ourselves of the memory of the betrayal and utter loss. Then at last in the year 512 we came to Havens of Sirion, or the Mouths of Sirion, the great delta where the River Sirion emptied into the sea in the northeast corner of the Bay of Balar. The land about the mouths was named Lisgardh, for it was a region of reeds dense as a forest.

I was helping the wounded mount off their horses as many others were doing, although my own still stung when I moved too much. Naergon only suffered me to help him down the mare he had been riding on then jerked off my hands and limped away. Sighing, I made to bring the mare to the others but upon turning around, I found someone that I had forgotten of in quite a while.

"Lord Saerin," I greeted him, nonetheless surprised. "It is long since we met."

"Lady Híthriel," he returned, "although I must correct you, for I am no lord."

"And neither am I," I said, and he smiled faintly.

"You're hurt," he noted.

"Most are worse," I told him, dismissing the statement. "And many are dead."

He noticed the absence of Glorfindel and Ecthelion, and pointedly said nothing. "There won't be enough room for all of them. Many will have to sleep in the tents."

I sighed, putting a hand on the mare's neck and leading her to the others, but did not reply. Saerin began to help with the work also, bringing food and provisions to the refugees of Gondolin, yet all the while he was watching me carefully, as if he would unravel all the secrets I hid buried inside of me.

* * *

One day I was tending to the horses, my mind wandering to far distant places, then slowly realized that someone was standing before me. I lifted my eyes to find Talethien, looking much like he did before, yet only more sorrowful, more contained and reserved.

"Talethien," I said, as a way of greeting.

"Silivros is alive," he told me, "and so is Églanim."

I dipped my head. "Thank you."

"That was my position," he said. "To guard and to protect." _Was._ But he seemed to pay no heed to it and went on. "When you didn't come, we expected you dead. But you went to Gondolin. _Gondolin,_ when you knew that not long after you went, the city would fall."

I heard his unspoken question and spoke softly, my gaze cast upon the ground. "That is true. It was only three years before the city's fall." I raised my eyes, meeting his. "I wanted to see them again. I wanted to know them again before I would lose them forever." Exhaling, I let out a shaking sigh. "I thought maybe. . .maybe at least one of them would get out alive, but none did. I wish. . .I wish it didn't have to happen this way. I wish I didn't have to be so _alone_."

He seemed to be surprised to see that I was crying, to see that I hated having to conceal myself any more, and lowered his eyes, as if to be polite.

If I had stayed with Mae after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, I wouldn't have been so alone, and instead of falling into the darkness alone, we would have fallen into darkness together. I almost wished that I had stayed with him, so at least I would have had someone with me. I almost didn't care if I had partaken in the Second Kinslaying with the Fëanorians, I almost didn't care if I had killed to make myself feel less alone.

Maybe if I had stayed, we could have brought each other out of the darkness, and maybe none of it would have happened. None of what had happened in Dor-lómin to me, of what had happened in Nargothrond and Tumhalad. Maybe I would not have swallowed up fifteen years of my life hunting down those orc and Easterling tribes, flooded in a sea of revenge. Maybe we could have found some way to relinquish the Oath and free them all from it. Maybe then Tyelko, Moryo, Curvo would all still be alive, and we could have found a way out of it together.

It hurt to realize how utterly alone I was, how I _had no one left._

The feeling almost made me feel as if I never had anyone, for I could barely remember what it was like to have someone there for me—to feel loved.

"Hith?" Talethien said quietly.

I brushed the tears off my face and looked up at him. "I'm sorry." I had nothing else to say. "I shouldn't have left you in Doriath. My desire was selfish, and you and Silivros needed me."

"It's all right," he told me. "The past is over now."

"The past is over, yet it still lingers," I murmured. "I wish I could be rid of it."

"I wish for that also," he said softly, and I looked at him incredulously. "I did not understand you before, but I do now. If not, then perhaps a fraction of it."

"Death gives way to many perspectives," I said. "I am glad you do."

Talethien smiled faintly. "I hope we meet again before the end."

* * *

Eärendil, son of Tuor and Itarillë, grew up quite swiftly, for he was one of the Peredhel, and lived afterwards in Arvernien by the Havens of Sirion. He later became the leader of the people who lived there, and married Elwing, daughter of Dior the son of Beren and Lúthien, when he was twenty-two. After seven years of their marriage, they had two twin children: Elerondo and Elerossë, whose names in Sindarin were Elrond and Elros, yet also in the year that they were married, Tuor and Itarillë's sea-longing grew too strong and they sailed away on their ship Eärrámë to Valinor.

With the aid of Círdan the Shipwright, Eärendil built a ship, Vingilótë, and sailed around the seas west of Middle-earth, seeking the Valar for aid, and although he would not admit it, I knew that secretly he wanted to see his parents again before the end, perhaps. The Valar were our only hope of survival now; every other place in Beleriand was under Morgoth's control, and he would show us no mercy when he descended upon us.

But also at this time Elwing had in her possession the Silmaril that Beren had wrested from Morgoth, and the Nauglamír was a blessed relic for the peoples of the Havens, that were the last holdings of the Eldar and Atani in Beleriand. At times I would look after Elerondo and Elerossë, for Eärendil was away often, and Elwing was often busy as the leader of the peoples in the Havens of Sirion.

* * *

I was passing by the market, bringing Elerondo and Elerossë back to their mother's place. Some Telerin Eldar passed by, and I caught the bitter whisper of _kinslayer_ on their lips. I made no indication that I had heard, but my eyes looked far away, and remembered a time that seemed so long ago, in Angband.

"You shouldn't be with those Noldorin whores," a Sindarin ellon had said to Silivros, jerking his chin to me and Saerin. "They don't deserve you, those kinslayers." The Sinda sauntered over to me and I stepped back, shrinking to the wall. His eyes were steely and silver in the feeble light. "I would put a knife in your head if I had one. You killed my family. I've been here for thirty years because of your kind." He spit at my feet. "You deserve this, slut."

I stared up at the Sinda, my eyes stony yet broken.

"Enough," Silivros said. "Lay off of her."

The Sinda turned to Silivros, and for a moment, the energy was taut with peril. Then he brushed past Silivros, whispering into his ear, "You're just as terrible as them."


	40. Chapter XXXIX

CHAPTER XXXIX

* * *

 _Havens of Sirion, 538_

It was the year 538. Eärendil had gone again on one of his voyages and Elerondo and Elerossë were both six years old now. The Fëanorians had learned of the whereabouts of the Silmaril before, in 512, but had not yet launched an attack on Sirion, and fear grew greatly in the hearts of the refugees in Sirion in these days, and Elwing guarded the Silmaril with much fervor.

As a final resort of the Oath, the remaining sons of Fëanor sacked the Havens, and they were utterly destroyed. Thereafter this was called the Third Kinslaying, the cruelest of the slayings, the third of the great wrongs achieved by the accursed oath.

Elwing had gone somewhere so I shielded Elerondo and Elerossë, trying to get them to stay with the larger group. Without warning a Fëanorian launched himself at the twins and I darted in front of them, suddenly locked in a fierce duel in the process.

"Go!" I shouted to the twins. "Run!" But the Fëanorian cut me off abruptly, and I only saw them scramble away in the distance.

"Trying to be valiant, are you?" the Fëanorian drawled, and with sudden dismay I realized that it was Morwë. "Like Fingon the valiant? Saving children now, are you?" He laughed, a sound that was crazed and frenzied. "Yes, I recognize you, _Lady Híthriel_. Lord Maedhros' favorite, if I remember correctly, and I think I do. Yet you have betrayed us."

"Hm, interesting." I drew back. "Indeed I seem to vaguely remember you."

"It makes my heart glad that you remember me, if not only a little bit," Morwë said. "I liked you, and would have made friends with you had you not betrayed us."

"Betrayed you?" I repeated incredulously. "Your ways are twisted. How can you call this justice?"

"We trusted you," he spat. "And you left us to die."

I launched myself at Morwë, pressing my knife against his throat. "I did none of those things."

He threw me off as another one of his companions hurled himself into the fight. There was blood on his sword—viscous, scarlet blood dripping off the point of it and onto the fingers of another dead on the ground.

I showed no mercy as I let myself fly at them, aiming to kill. The former I stabbed through the neck and slit the throat of the latter.

I thought nothing of them thereafter.

"Elerondo!" I cried in the havoc of the battle. "Elerossë!"

But I found no trace of them whatsoever although I called for them and searched ceaselessly even as the battle raged on. People were running to and fro, most fleeing and not fighting, for there was little hope left in doing so. In the midst of the storm, I saw Maedhros and met his eyes, but over the mask of darkness I could see nothing. Behind him Káno kicked someone out of the way, yet he did not move.

There was only the sound of an arrow whistling as I turned—before all vanished into darkness.

* * *

When I came back to consciousness, the Havens of Sirion were in ruins. The sunset was crimson over the horizon like the death that now clung to the remains of the place forever.

I was lying somewhat sheltered under a ledge of a crumbling structure and as I heaved myself up, I found that my shoulder was bound and the broken arrow lay in two next to me. When I was able to stand again, I made my way to the main hall, still distantly in search of the twins, Elerondo and Elerossë.

Many lay barren dead in the halls; there was no grave for their hröar, no peace they could find in the Halls of Awaiting. Egalmoth, one of the Lords of Gondolin, lay dead in a fountain, staining it scarlet. The streets were tainted with blood that flowed like a river that would bring destruction to all in its path. So many dead, so many hurt. When would this terrible madness all end?

It was then I saw Telvo. I had glimpsed his crimson hair first, and for a heartbeat thought it was Mae. He was lying awkwardly on his back, his hair covering his face, and there was an arrow struck through his back. Using my foot I turned him over and stared at his eyes, blank and unseeing. They had been hazel, like Maedhros', but lighter. I stonily realized that of all the sons of Fëanor, only Mae and Káno remained. Pityo was dead, Tyelko was dead, Moryo was dead, Curvo was dead, and now Telvo was dead. Yet I shed no tears, for the yawning abyss in my heart had only grown wider and sucked in all the torment.

The Jewel had escaped with Elwing, yet there was nothing but death.

* * *

 _Amon Ereb, 539_

News had come to my ears that Elerondo and Elerossë had been captured by the Fëanorians in the Third Kinslaying, and a fiery rage came into me. I resolved to pay Amon Ereb a visit.

The guards let me through the gate easily enough; they knew who I was. But they did not suspect who I had become, or what I may bring upon them.

I would not regret this.

Bursting through the door in uncontrolled fury, I found Mae standing there, as if waiting for me.

"Hith," he said. "I knew you would come back."

As fast as an adder I whipped out my long knife and launched on the table, flinging my foot on his ribs I forced his back to the wall as I pressed the blade to his neck.

"I regret not killing you," I hissed.

He looked up at me, the gaze unwavering. "Me too," he murmured, and as I looked into those tortured, grey eyes, something broke in me and I faltered. But he closed his eyes as if it was too painful to look at me. I hadn't noticed that tears were running down my cheeks until he reached up his hand to cup my face, eyes still closed. I don't know why I didn't stop him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so, so sorry. There are no words to describe how I'm feeling right now."

 _I know_ , I wanted to say. He smelled so good, like the sweet miruvórë Findekáno used to give me when I was little, like the old days that were beautiful and joyous, like the times we were all together, and not scattered, broken, dead, lost. I wanted to leap into his arms and have it be like the old times again, when I was a little child and had lost nothing.

But instead, I hardened my voice. "You don't deserve to say that." But something in me broke and suddenly my lips were pressed against his, and simultaneously he had leaped for me, his fingers entwined in my hair.

Abruptly I broke away with a crazed smile on my face and reached for the bottle of Sindarin wine of the table. "Taken to drinking, have you?" I said, and dunked a good amount of it into my mouth.

"You naughty, naughty child," Mae chided as I shoved the bottle into his hands.

"I'm five hundred forty-eight today," I said. "It's Tarnin Hríve. Am I really still that young?"

He chuckled and handed the bottle back to me, only a fourth of it left. "I'm a few thousand years old, love. You haven't beaten me yet."

I slid the bottle back on the table after finished it all, nearly breaking the glass. "Hm?" I rumbled softly as I turned back to him.

"Your cheeks are so cute when they're flushed," he said.

I smiled and leaned closer. "You're drunk," I told him.

"Like you're not," he said, and I laughed, pressing my lips to his again until we were breathless and gasping. My fingers slid under his tunic and tore it off as he barrelled me onto the bed.

"Ow," I muttered, wincing. "Watch the shoulder."

"Sorry," he murmured, kissing the wound.

"It was you, wasn't it?" I said softly. "After Sirion—it was you who stitched and bound my shoulder."

I felt him smile against my lips. "Yes, it was." I saw him flinch as he noticed that his hand was brushing against the scar, then look in wonder as he realized that I had not recoiled, had not been seized in a tremor.

"It's all right," I whispered. "I can control it now."

In his eyes I could see my own reflected, and gazed at the flecks of silver that had now come forth in the irises as a result of the draft that Artanis had made me. Slowly, he traced a finger along the scar, as if afraid. When he reached the end of it at my side, he lifted his eyes to mine and I smiled, though it was tinged with melancholy.

"You see?" I said. "It's all right now." I had to say it once more to convince myself that it was, but I didn't want to think about it, to talk about it, so he leaned down and kissed me again. The Sindarin wine was beginning to wear off so I found another bottle of it, quite easily, and drained enough to make me pass out. But I didn't.

Suddenly it was as if years of hatred and loathing had suddenly vanished. It felt good to smile; I hadn't done so in so long—my face felt as if it was stretching so much to simply smile. As he held me in his arms like he used to, I wanted to be in this moment forever, and have it never end.

"How are the twins doing?" I murmured at last into the darkness.

"Fine. It's mostly Káno that takes care of them."

"Do you not because they remind you of Pityo and Telvo? And Eluréd and Elurín? Do they remind you of all that has failed?"

The voice was quiet. "Maybe."

There was a long silence.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I truly am."

"I don't want to talk about that right now," I said, and leaned into his warmth.

It was a few hours later when we lay in a tight embrace, not wanting to give up hope, not wanting to realize the truth of it all. I barely knew why, but we were both crying, tears falling silently from our eyes, engulfed in a wave of emotion and feelings and thoughts we thought had been lost long ago.

"I want to tell you. . .what was so terrible that I did," I said softly.

He waited in silence for me to speak.

"After the Nirnaeth, I spent fifteen years an assassin, killing all those who had betrayed us in the war. At the end of that period, I nearly died killing Thuringwethil, because of the ungolócë that had worsened in that time. Mairon came and healed me, then brought me to Doriath and left.

"In Angband, they tried to make a creature out of me. Mirnetyo—they made me fuck him then marry him then fuck him again and again. But when the child came, I killed him before they could bred a monster out of him. Shortly after, they had me kill Mirnetyo along with the child, because he tried to help me escape—tried to help me escape life. There would have been no other way."

I looked up into his eyes, wanting to face the bare, hideous, terrible truth. "I'm a kinslayer too."

He said nothing; there were no words to say, and tucked my head under his chin, running his hands through my hair in an attempt to tell me. . .tell me what?

 _I never knew._

"Can I tell you something?" he whispered.

"Yes," I told him.

"Once Thauron projected an illusion of Finno into my mind, and I truly thought it was real; I did not know such things then. Before me he held a child by the neck and told me to choose. I wouldn't choose, so he brought an illusion of Káno into it too. I chose the child. Still I say to myself—why did I do it? _Why did I do it?"_

Tears rolled out of his eyes as he spoke. "Every day he would tell me to choose one of them to kill, to grovel them into submission. Sometimes they begged for mercy; sometimes they merely looked into my eyes, saying nothing; sometimes the ones whom they loved would call out for them as the blade hung over them. Did I really have to do it? Was it so _hard_ to _refuse_?"

"It was," I said quietly. "It was. Do not blame yourself. Please, Mae."

"Then don't you dare either," he said fiercely. "Don't you _dare_."

"I won't," I promised, although I knew that it was impossible.

There was an empty silence.

"Do you remember when I told you that one night, _don't leave, Maitimo, don't you dare_?" I said.

"Yes," he said, his lips barely moving.

For a long while we lay in the silent night, the stars distant and cold above. Our minds strayed, but we did not sleep—not yet.

"I guess," he murmured, "this is our last farewell."

"We said goodbye long ago," I told him, a new wave of tears flooding my eyes. "This shouldn't be so hard, should it be?"

"I don't know," he said, so softly that I had to strain to hear, and in the gloom, his eyes looked dark. He kissed my brow, whispering, "Novaer, Lady Híthriel." I noticed he did not use my Quenya name. We might as well have been strangers now. "Savo 'lass a lalaith."

"Namárië, Lord Maitimo," I whispered, not wanting to face the fact that the past was only memory now.

I laid my head on his chest, yearning to know, to see what had happened at Sirion. Feeling into his mind, I delved into his memory of the moment I had been hit by that arrow. For a long time, he had no reaction as I had fallen unconscious onto the stones, and went on fighting, flawing, forgetting.

Then when it was all over, and the people of the Havens of Sirion were slaughtered, he had gone back for me, to find me still lying there, blood pooling onto the stones. Almost instinctively, he had carried me to a somewhat sheltered area and cleaned the wound. He had broken the arrow in two and slid it out on both sides, then laid it next to me. After he had bound the wound, he had stood up, sensing Káno behind him.

 _Do you still care about her?_ Káno had said. _After everything?_

When Mae did not answer and brushed past him, Káno had spoken again. _Telvo is dead._

Mae had halted abruptly in his steps, then kept on walking.

 _[Keep on walking, and don't you dare fall.]_

* * *

I didn't see Maedhros the next morning as I made to leave. Elerossë started as he saw me pass by the doorway; he and Elerondo were eating breakfast at the table. I paused, and came into the room, but said naught.

"Lady Híthriel?" Elerondo said faintly, as if he was unsure if it was really me. "What—when did you come here?"

"Last night," I said, a little stiffly. "You two—you are good children. I hope that this will not be our last meeting."

Elerondo and Elerossë stared at me, eyes wide, but with fear or with uncertainty I did not know. I bowed and left the room.

"Life is just a game of hide-and-seek," Káno said. He had been standing in a shadowed corner, silent and observant. "We'll all be sought out soon."

I kept on walking. I didn't know what to think, what to say.

I never saw Mae or Káno again.


	41. Chapter XL

CHAPTER XL

* * *

The wild was a lonely place for one to dwell.

They were like vast empty halls with a long wooden table in the center of it, yet no one sitting there at all. It made me think of Maedhros—how I didn't know him anymore, not at all. He could have went to the north and assailed Angband instead of slaughtering his own people in Sirion, but he was frightened; frightened of his past, frightened to face it. Once, in the times of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Bauglir in the north and his lieutenant might have been afraid of him, but now he was craven, a shrunken shadow of all that he was before. The past had finally come to chase him away, until he was nothing more than a mere whisper of wind. Many of his kin like to steer clear of the truth and say that the Kinslayings were the fault of his brothers, yet that was not wholly true. _Remember Sirion. Remember what he did, and do not forget._ There had been no one there to coax him into attacking the Havens, only the haunting ghost of himself.

I still found it hard to believe. Mae, who had been the only to stand by at the Burning at Losgar, who had given the crown of High King of the Noldor to Ñolofinwë because he found himself unfit, who had been a valiant warrior protecting Himring in both the Dagor Aglareb and Dagor Bragollach, who had begun the Union that nearly overthrew Morgoth, who had searched in vain for Eluréd and Elurín, who had took in Elerondo and Elerossë when they were meant to be captured.

 _Híthriel, you need to face the truth. They are coming, and they are coming here to kill us. You don't know them anymore,_ Artanis had told me in the Second Kinslaying.

I do face it now.

 _I hope it holds memory for you,_ Artanis had said upon giving me the flower she had kept from Valinor. _Do not forget all that has happened. I picked it right before I left; I thought I didn't have enough things to remember the beauty of my home._ But I had left the flower upon the grave of Glorfindel in the mountains of Crissaegrim, and had nothing to hold onto now.

"I will not forget," I whispered to myself in an attempt to persuade myself so. "I will not forget."

In the south there was the Isle of Balar where the last Eldalië and Atani of Beleriand had fled. For half a fortnight, I travelled through the land of Arvernien and the Birchwoods of Nimbrethil to Cape Balar, keeping to the shadows, for now all of Beleriand was under Morgoth's control save Amon Ereb. There was no doubt the city would be overrun soon.

Círdan slipped out of his concealed place as I neared the strand of Balar; he had been accustomed to helping the survivors escape the peril in Beleriand to the Isle. Perhaps they deemed they would be safe there. Quietly he rowed me and a few other survivors out of the Cape, across the Bay of Balar, and to the Isle.

It was twilight when we arrived. A night watch led us to the large hall where all the rest slept and left us there to settle. I saw Artanis drop the pile of clothes she was holding and come rushing toward me, enveloping me in a tight embrace which I weakly returned. Artanáro had been beside her, and looked at me with a mixed expression, bending down to pick up the clothes Artanis had dropped.

"Thank the Valar you're alive," Artanis breathed when she pulled back at last.

"If you thank them, then why are they not here, fighting for us?" I said.

She sighed. "Hith—"

Artanáro had come up behind her. "They _will_ come. They _will not_ abandon us to the doom of death and torture. I know it so."

"You were not there during the Darkening of Valinor," I said to him. "You do not know what this means, what you are saying."

"Neither were you," he said, keeping his chin lifted in defiance.

"No," I told him, "but I know enough. Did the Valar come when your father died, Artanáro? Did the Valar care when he fell in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad; did the Valar care when the free peoples of Beleriand fell to ruin?"

He was shaking inside, and although he fought to keep the emotions concealed, they were clear upon his face. "It wasn't like that. . ."

"You wouldn't understand. You were a child then, and still are." With that I began to stride away, but halted as he managed to speak again.

"You're only bitter."

I didn't turn. "Aren't we all?" I mused, and watched in vigilance as they began to light the candles of dusk, the mantle of shadow blanketing the sky.

* * *

So began the long years of waiting—waiting for either the doom of death or of torture; most Noldor did not believe that the Valar would come. Only the younger ones, like Artanáro, and the Sindar, who had never been in Valinor, clung upon the hope of it.

"You left us there," Artanis said one red sunset we looked upon the rising smoke in the north.

"In Doriath?" I said. "Yes, I did."

"You left us in Doriath and went to Gondolin seeking death, but did not find it. You went to Sirion, and not Balar, not until now."

"Yes."

"And you knew the Fëanorians would attack Sirion."

I paused. "Yes."

She wavered for a moment before speaking again. "So you saw him again."

"Who? Nelyo? Yes."

"Artanáro blames you for leaving Elerondo and Elerossë in Amon Ereb," she said.

"I think I do too," I told her.

* * *

The year after that, news came to the Isle that Amon Ereb had been destroyed. I don't recall feeling anything in particular, not even when I came upon Artanáro in the corridor and he looked at me long and steadily. _Why did you leave Elerondo and Elerossë?_

"You're High King now," I said. "Turukáno is dead."

"What do you mean to say?"

"Nothing," I told him. "It matters not."

 _We will not survive for long. Face the truth, you damn fool, face it._

* * *

Five years later the Valar came. The response to Eärendil's plea had come at last—a massive host of Noldor, Vanyar, and Valar from Valinor met with the uncountable forces of Morgoth in Beleriand, and the entire North was aflame with war.

The main host arrived in the ruins of the Havens of Sirion, and made camp there for a while before Morgoth's forces descended upon them, and the War of Wrath began at last.

It lasted four decades.

* * *

 _The Valar finally pushed over the Sirion and drove Morgoth's forces back. Of the march of the host of the Valar to the north of Middle-earth little is said in any tale; for among them went none of those Eldar who had dwelt and suffered in the Hither Lands, and who made the histories of those days that still are known; and tidings of these things they only learned long afterwards from their kinsfolk in Aman. But at the last the might of Valinor came up out of the West, and the challenge of the trumpets of Eönwë filled the sky; and Beleriand was ablaze with the glory of their arms, for the host of the Valar were arrayed in forms young and fair and terrible, and the mountains rang beneath their feet. There was marshalled the whole power of the Throne of Morgoth, and it had become great beyond count, so that Anfauglith could not contain it; and all the North was aflame with war._

 _And such few of the Balrogs as were left of the three houses of the Eldandil, Fathers of Men, fought upon the part of the Valar; and they were avenged in those days for Baragund and Barahir, Galdor and Gundor, Huor and Húrin, and many others of their lords. But a great part of the sons of Men, whether of the people of Uldor or others new come out of the east, marched with the Enemy; and the Eldar do not forget it._

* * *

The night sky was moonless tonight; it was shrouded in a fuming smoke issued forth from Angband, cast above the fortress like a billowing cloud, ever spreading. The war in the north was hundreds of leagues away, yet I could feel the tension in the energy pushing, pulling, and tightening even from the very south of the continent. They called it the War of Wrath, for it seemed that it had been built on nothing but rage and fury and unceasing revenge.

I was standing at the dock of the Isle, the wood somehow smooth beneath my bare feet, gazing at the fires erupting in the distance. The wind should have been cold, but I felt it not, for the energies tautening around me kneaded friction into my hröa, sending a feverish chill up my spine and to my brow. I could see from afar the stark silhouette of the fortress and a massive wingèd shadow circling the peaks of Thangorodrim from above, fire engirdling around it like a scarlet ring. Four decades of the war had passed, four long, dragging decades, yet it seemed nowhere near the ceasing, until now. The Valar had not come with news for nearly a moon now, but I could feel it—in the earth, in the water, in the energy—at last, perhaps, it would cease.

The small rowboat rocked unsteadily beneath my feet as I stepped onto it, rainwater from the previous night sloshing around my feet, damp, scattered leaves taping themselves onto my skin, and kept a hand upon the other side of the rowboat, balancing it as I seated myself. I had a sudden desire to feel the smooth coolness of the water upon my hand, so I brushed them upon the surface, the fingers dripping of it as they came back up; yet still I leaned over the side of the rowboat, gazing at the deep darkness of the water like flowing ebony silk.

Retreating back upright, I breathed in the crisp night air as my fingers curled around the oars, then grasped the smooth wood unreserved and began to row in slow, long strokes that dragged across the water. Something was different tonight, something different in the energies; there was a new feeling that had gradually come from the years of flame and hatred—fear, from the fortress in the north. _Morgoth_ was frightened, he alone of the Valar to know fear, or so they said. To me, all had to be frightened—it was one of the the many fruits of life.

I had seen as the Valar first came to Beleriand, their chief army landing at the Mouths of Sirion, Eönwë leading the host. I had seen them slowly push their forces over the Sirion, driving Morgoth's forces back to the north, countless deaths befalling upon all in the process. I had seen as the Balrogs were destroyed, save some few that fled and hid themselves in caverns inaccessible at the roots of the earth. I had seen the uncounted legions of the Orcs as they perished like straw in a great fire, or were swept like shrivelled leaves before a burning wind. And I had knew.

Upon reaching the strand of Cape Balar in the very south of Beleriand, I halted my rowing, the boat sliding along the waveless shore, then turned an oar subtly so I was close enough to step onto land. I bound the rope to a tree after climbing out and reached into the folds of my cloak, bringing out the flask and mechanically pouring the draft into my mouth. I had been taking more of it lately, much more than was intended; after the occurrence in Gondolin my hröa had grown accustomed to such large portions of it, and it seemed almost necessary to my well-being now. Yet today, I took more care of it, for I had to make certain that I would not be incapable of returning after what I was about to do.

I slid the flask back into my cloak and began to head towards Arvernien and the Birchwoods of Nimbrethil, where others could not find me, as the woods would be sufficient cover and far from the searching eyes of the Eldalië at Balar and the Valarin host in the north; much of the continent had already been ravaged and in ruins. I savored the feeling of the damp earth beneath my bare feet; they seemed to be the only thing to feel _true_ and _real_ here. The texture of it beneath my feet reminded me of the times when I was a child, and I would run free and wild, unkempt but happy.

A great ravine lay before me, the woods of Nimbrethil seemingly small below the drop, and I looked down upon it for a moment before letting my wings unfurl from my back and shifting into my true form. I dived from the summit of the ravine, gliding rather than plummeting and catching myself, following the direction of the wind; I dared not let myself savor my freedom in that manner, for I could do that no more.

I landed lightly upon my feet, not caring to shift back into my other form, and took a little more of the draft for good measure. The boughs of the tree above me were empty, and they shone silver in the starless night.

I reached my bonds of energy out, seeping the power of ósanwë across the land so that it bled to the fortress in the north—

A figure garbed in shadow bent over himself, a mere spectre of what he had been before. The other was beside him, auburn hair in an unkempt disorder, whispering words of reassurance and ease into his ear, although I felt the voice shake through the energies in the air.

My fëa drifted out the door of the massive chamber as the latter turned, and I lingered there in the corridor, my eyes unfocused as I _felt_ the words that were being spoken through the other room. The latter departed then, bowed and nearly defeated, and came through the door, walking from the opposite direction in which I stood without even seeing me.

"What do you mean to do?" I said softly, although the voice seemed too loud in the silent corridor.

Mairon halted in his steps then turned, incredulous as he beheld me. "How are you doing this?" he said, extending his own tendrils of ósanwë to feel that it was my fëa here and my hröa still far away in the south.

"I have ways," I told him. "Ways that you did not think of, when you gave up on my life."

"It is impossible," he said, shaking his head and turning away. He looked quite different now, frightened and defeated as the floor shook beneath us and the walls around from the assault of the Valar, now pressing close to the end of it all. Dust rained down from the ceiling above and the earth _trembled_ , as if she herself was afraid of what was to come.

Suddenly he swept forward and curled a hand around my throat, thrusting me into the wall. But I stared straight back into his crimson eyes, undaunted, silver flecks showing themselves forth in my eyes.

"You can't hurt me now," I said, and in the depth of my eyes he knew that I meant not physically.

He released the hand but did not pull back. "Why are you doing this? Why are you in league with the Valar? They never came to help you when you were forlorn, when you were fallen in shadow. They never came to help _any_ of you when you suffered, when you lost. Manwë didn't send Thorondor to save Nelyafinwë; he came by his own will. When your brothers and sisters of blood and bondage died before your eyes, did they come? Did they trouble themselves with you?"

I did not move.

"The Valar—they _hate_ you, they are _afraid_ of you; they will be, when they know who you are, and what you can do to them. They will hide you away and hurt you and imprison you like they did to Melkor. However you are doing this, projecting your hröa here from your fëa—it is nearly impossible, even for those without the ungolócë that flows through your veins."

"And whose fault is that—the ungolócë?" I said.

He sighed, his gaze cast downward for a quick moment, then he looked at me with renewed fervor and fierce hope. "I know. It was me. I was. . . _wrong_. I was different then. Híthriel, my yendë, you are more powerful than you realize."

"I think I realize it quite wholly."

"Not in the way I see it."

"You see me as a weapon you can use against the Valar."

His lips curved slowly into a humorless smile. "You know me too well."

"You're frightened," I said.

He looked at me slowly, perhaps even faltering a little. "They're going to tear down this fortress and cast us into the Everlasting Darkness. Yes, I'm afraid."

"And you think _I_ alone can stop that from happening."

"Perhaps."

"Why would I help you?" _After you've hurt me so much._

"Why would you help the Valar?" he said.

"Yet I'm not, evidently."

He drew in a shuddering breath. "When they first came, four decades ago, I was afraid that you would join them and destroy us. I expected it, quite frankly. But when you didn't come, there was scarcely any challenge for us to be afraid of."

I smiled dryly. "Why, I'm flattered that you would be so afraid of me, of all things."

"Ancalagon is out there right now," he said, "fighting Eärendil in that sky-ship Vingilótë. It's been a day now since the fight has begun. My Urulóki are all nearly slaughtered. The Balrogs are destroyed or in hiding. The host is nearly wiped out. They will be here soon."

"Where will you go? You are not condemned to the same fate as your master."

He looked at me wryly this time. "Out."

"Is that so?"

He said nothing more of it, for the answer was already known. "Will you not help?"

"Wars are nothing but fruitless suffering."

The look in his eyes was nothing short of the sorrowful blend of fear yet valour, now, and he turned away, heading down into the shadows of the corridor.

"Remember what I said to you, Híthriel. Remember the Valar's promise. Remember your mother—Mirerúnya. _Do not forget."_

"Someone seemed to have said something similar to me in some past days," I murmured into the darkness, and watched as he went out, facing those he might have once knew as friends. _They say that he befriended Eönwë in his days in Valinor, but grew estranged as the light darkened._ He might even have known Olórin.

Then I let my fëa fade back into my hröa, feeling the grass of Nimbrethil upon my fingers, and watched in vigilance as Eärendil cast Ancalagon from the sky, the massive body breaking the towers of Thangorodrim in its fall. Frankly I felt nothing as I watched the fortress fall to ruin—no fear, no satisfaction, no joy.

I closed my eyes, and _saw_ as Morgoth stood at last at bay, fleeing into the deepest of his mines, and suing for peace and pardon; but his feet were hewn from under him, and he was hurled upon his face. Then he was bound with the chain Angainor which he had worn aforetime, and his iron crown they beat into a collar for his neck, and his head was bowed upon his knees. The two Silmarils which remained to him were taken from his crown, and they shone unsullied beneath the sky.

The earth _trembled_ then, and I mounted into the air, extending my wings, climbing above the ravine which had formed from the aftermath of the war.

Out of the deep prisons a multitude of slaves came forth beyond all hope into the light of day, and they looked upon a world that was changed. For so great was the fury of those adversaries that the northern regions of the western world were rent asunder, and the sea roared in through many chasms, and there was confusion and great noise; rivers perished or found new paths, the valleys were upheaved and the hills trod down; and Sirion was no more.

My wings took me back to Balar, and I saw the eyes of the Eldar upon the Isle looking upon the crumbling fortress in the north and the land in ruins. None saw me as I flew above and slipped back to the chamber.

Then the roaring of the seas ceased, and all was silent.

* * *

*Chapter XXIV, 'Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath,' _The Quenta Silmarillion_.


	42. Chapter XLI

CHAPTER XLI

* * *

 _Utúlië'n aurë_

 _Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlië'n aurë_

 _Auta i lómë_

 _The day has come_

 _Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come_

 _The night is passing_

 _Aurë entuluva_

 _The dawn shall rise again_

The whisper of these words were upon the boughs of dawn as the light branched out between the silver clouds, reflecting speckles of pale glitter upon the lapping cerulean waves. For most, the taste of freedom was in the air, and I breathed it in, trying to feel the bliss that they felt—that I couldn't feel. Artanáro was behind me, yet I did not show that I knew and waited to see what he would do. A few fortnights ago he had gone to Beleriand, seeking Elerondo and Elerossë, and found them waiting for him. _It was time to go, time to say farewell. They could keep them no longer._

"Artanis told me that you and my father were very close. He was almost like a brother to you," he said at last.

"Yes," I told him softly. "I did know him. I knew him well." I turned slightly to meet his eyes. "I remember seeing you in Hísilómë as a mere babe, just a few years before the breaking of the Long Peace. When I rode out to Angamando in the Bragollach, he told me he couldn't lose everyone, because he had already sent you to Círdan in the Falas."

"He came to visit me sometimes at Brithombar," Artanáro admitted. "I still remember him. It seems the memories from my childhood are the most vibrant, though. I was nine at the time I left for Falas, and for a long time I was filled with bitterness on why he sent me there. It wasn't until my mother's death in the sack of the Havens that I knew—that I understood."

Suddenly I remembered how young he was, and how nearly all his life had been lived in the evil times of sorrow and war.

"Lady Híthriel?" Artanáro said.

I drifted out of my reverie. "I'm sorry?"

"I would prefer you call me by my amilessë. Gil-galad."

"You don't like how they call you Ereinion?" I asked.

"Scion of Kings? The name is all right, but I do not prefer it."

"Your journey as the sixth High King of the Noldor begins here," I said, "or perhaps it has already begun."

"It has," he admitted, turning to the dawn. "It has already begun. We will depart from the Isle on the morrow."

"Aníron bain galu, Gil-galad," I told him, using Sindarin.

"Hannon le," he returned, dipping his head.

* * *

I held my hand before me, clenching and unclenching my fingers, observing the slight pain that came at the movement. As I shifted my hand, the shadows of the dim candlelight were cast upon my hand, and they looked like spectres dancing in the dead of the night; no moon hung upon the sky tonight, no brilliance to light the path before us. I was sitting upon a small patio at the end of a cloister overlooking the Belegaer, listening to the soft sound of waves lapping upon the strand. It reminded me of the dream I had in my time in Angband—the glistering cold full moon, the rock by the sea, the calm waves lapping gently at my feet, the stone below the precipice when ammë's cottage stood. The others were asleep in the halls, saving their strength for the journey back to Endórë on the morrow. I was the only one to be up tonight save the night watch, and they were at the other side of the isle; I had the unmoving silence to myself.

The fingers had begun to shake even as I looked upon it, and closing it into a fist, I downed the draft again like there was nothing else in the world that mattered.

Almost immediately after, I felt a tug in the energies around me and nearly dropped the flask, fingers still trembling as I slipped it back into my cloak. Barely giving myself time to catch my breath, I instantly dived into the bonds of energy, delving into the threads and following those that lead to what had sparked the change, for I knew the touch of it, the feeling of it, who it was—

* * *

Maedhros stood upon the brink of a jagged rock, looking upon the camp of Eönwë before him, his sword unsheathed, for the sound would arouse those who slept if the iron rubbed upon the sheath, and it was strapped upon his back, nearly concealed under the blood-red of his hair. No fires were lit, and the night was utterly silent; not even the howl of the unnumbered dead in the wars of Beleriand were present. The hazel of his eyes seemed to be nearly black under the shadow of the starless night as he motioned to Kanafinwë beside him.

The eldest son of Fëanor met the frightened eyes of his brother, giving him a slight nod. _We have sworn, and not lightly. This oath we shall keep. We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we shall go on, and this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda._

Those had been the words of Fëanor some years ere his death, yet they had failed his words even now. They had forsaken it—forsaken it and become craven. A shame—and a pity, wouldn't you think?

All the vibrating and shimmering energies around the air could be felt, the lilting dances of the creatures of the darkness could come forth, and the song of the rustling leaves in the bitter wind could be heard as Maedhros and Kanafinwë slunk down the hill, mere shadows in the night. The guard upon the west side of the camp was a jade-eyed, golden-haired Vanya, yet Maedhros gave no heed to it was he slipped his dagger into his hand and slit his throat.

Quietly the guard died, though he choked a little on the scarlet blood oozing from his throat before the twitching ceased. Maedhros looked upon the mutilated body stonily; he had grown numb to death, to suffering—to feeling. Kanafinwë was motionless beside him, and focused his eyes upon the ground, feeling the smooth hilt of his sword upon his palm, now so seemingly burdensome with the weight of the iron thrusting down upon him. He lifted his eyes and lifted his sword synchronized, like a song of crashing waves upon rugged crags.

They headed forward, silently slaying the guards in their path, the bodies falling like rain on the mountain. None it mattered anymore—did it not? After all, they were seeking _death_ , a swift death, and a fulfilling one. Death that would take them away from the Everlasting Darkness, away from _life_. They had been offered a chance to return to Valinor, to their homeland, and yet they had declined, for they knew that they would be scorned—for who would love them after what they had done?

The sentries guarding the jewels died just as easily as the first ones had, and Maedhros stepped into the tent, the blood upon his sword glistening like rubies in the moonlight. He drew in a breath shakily upon entering although he did not halt to glance at the fallen behind him, and slowly approached the table that held the two jewels concealed in thick cloth, placing each foot in front of the other ever so carefully, ever so watchfully. He stared at the lumps for a moment that was longer than simply a moment; he could feel the presence of the Silmarils—the energy of it pulsing, _throbbing_ , as though it had a little beating red heart of its own. He lifted his one hand, then paused, as if reluctant, unsure, then let need and desire drive him. He unveiled a Silmaril, and the sight was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen—more beautiful than the rich scarlet of blood, than the howls of the drowned, than the bitter, deep night. The jewel was casting scintillating lights upon the walls, and the gleam lit his face, making him look as a spectre himself. How ironic, wasn't that—for what they used to say: since his torment upon Thangorodrim his spirit burned like a white fire within, and he was as one that returns from the dead.

Kanafinwë stepped into the tent, slowly peeling away the flap of the tent, and the light of the Silmaril was cast upon his face, grander than the shimmer of snow upon the mountain, more calming than starlight after a fogged dusk. He made his way to stand by Maedhros, and looked upon the beauty of the jewel, the brilliance reflecting in his eyes.

Abruptly Maedhros covered the Silmaril's light, veiling it with the cloth once more. He slid it into his cloak, and jerked his chin at the other.

"Take it. We must go."

Kanafinwë seized the jewel with a sudden vigor, but Maedhros did not stop to see that before stepping outside, the bitterness of the night air nipping at his face once more.

For a moment, all was still, and Maedhros looked absently at the stump of his right hand, the wind brushing against the scars upon his hröa—the fruit of what he had done to return the Silmaril to its rightful holder. He was more surprised that he felt no different than anything. No joy, no satisfaction. Nothing.

Almost as swiftly as an arrow, a Noldo barreled into him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Instantly he sprang back into the air, at the same time drawing his sword into his hand, and dragged the blade over the Noldo's throat, crimson spilling out the soft skin. He danced away from the spray of blood and strengthened the grip upon the hilt of his sword, turning to face the others as Kanafinwë emerged from the tent behind him, his sword already chafing the blisters upon his palm from the endless years of struggle.

Then all the camp was raised against them, and they prepared to die, defending themselves until the last. Maedhros remembered the frenzied feelings of the battle fever, chiefly its first coming during the Dagor Aglareb five hundred twenty-seven years ago. Never before had recalled feeling such calculated fury, such unrestrained cool rage—no, not in Alqualondë, not in Losgar, not in the Dagor-nuin-Giliath. Only after the death of his father, his torment in Angband, seeing Hith go through the same terrible agony he had sworn he would never let happen again to anyone, did he truly feel the meaning of _wrath_. He remembered how the fortress in the north had stirred, and the fire that had come slithering out of fissures in the earth like serpents of ire, and how the Ered Engrin had vomited flame; he remembered it all, and the feeling of utter vengeance that had come upon him as suddenly as a whip cracking in the air.

The Noldo dying before him looked almost like Finno, with the vibrant cerulean eyes that glittered like the jewels of Elbereth herself, yet nonetheless, he drove his sword into his gut and worked on the next, not bothering to step out of reach of the spray of blood this time.

He almost thought he was feeling the battle fever again, yet without the anger, the vengeance; he felt not his wounds nor the blood that split from them. Not even the scar he had received at Sirion throbbed—for it had all this time, even after the War of Wrath. It reminded him of the numbness of his right side upon his release from Thangorodrim, and how it had took him such tormented _time_ to realize his absence of emotion, then try to bring it back again. He had pleaded for death by Finno's hand upon that mountain, and that had been the closest to emotion he could feel.

Káno let out a cry beside him as the pommel of a sword shattered his wrist, his sword clattering out of reach. Someone forced him to his knees and held his wrists together behind his back, pressing a dagger to his throat.

"Lay down your arms," the Noldo said, a fierce gleam in his eyes.

Maedhros still loved his brother, and with scarcely another thought placed his sword neatly upon the ground. Immediately at least four of the Eldalië rushed forward, forcing his knees to the ground so hard that the impact upon earth could be _felt_ in the energies shimmering ubiquitously.

"You shameful _traitor!"_ One of them shouted, and suddenly he was before him, silver flashing before his face—

The sword carved nearly half his face off, and he choked blood upon the ground as the burning fire smothered him in a bout of pain. He clenched his fists together, biting back a cry as the Elda's boot slammed into his ribs.

"Stop," came the clear voice of Eönwë, slicing through the screaming energies.

The ringing in his ears cleared as he coughed out more blood and raised his head slowly to look at the Maia before him. The left side of his face was shrieking still, and he realized that the blade had blinded one of his eyes. _Truly, what a hideous creature he had become_. _A pity his mother named him Maitimo. A pity that was the last thing Hith had called him before she left for good._

"Hail Lord Eönwë, Chief of the Maiar, Herald of Manwë," Maedhros said, his face screeching at the stretch of the skin at speech. "I am humbled to be before you, here at the end of all things."

"You have come for the works of your father," Eönwë said, more calmly than he perhaps should have been.

"Indeed." He would say no more.

Eönwë glanced at Kanafinwë. "Have you any words to say?"

 _Death, at last,_ Maedhros thought. _Death, I welcome you. Death, come to me and I will embrace you like you did my father._

"No, my lord," Káno said, his head bowed.

Eönwë met the gazes of the Eldalië before him, solemnly, as if mourning.

 _At last, at last, at last. . ._

"I forbid the slaying of the last two sons of Fëanor," Eönwë said. "I will have no more death, not by my hand, nor in my lands."

Maedhros lifted his gaze to the Maia's, screaming agony, fierce joy, voluptuous freedom, unbosomed fears, eternal melancholy all fused together in his one bloodied, gruesomely scarred face. He almost let tears well up in his eyes.

"So be it," he whispered. " _So be it_." The second time the words were fierce and clear, and all the Eldalië there heard them.

He rose with difficulty and limped past the Eldalië, who parted as he drew nigh. The ones holding Káno released him, yet he stood slowly, uncertainly, his brow furrowed with such pain that he might have demanded them to execute him then and there. Then all the guilt and the shame suddenly washing over him like the crash of a wave, he fled, escaping away from the fires of the camp, past the shadowed boughs of trees dangling from above. An owl hooted and fluttered his wings atop one of them, but went unnoticed.

They fled far away, until at last their strength was spent, and Maedhros crumpled to the ground, clutching the veiled Silmaril to his chest. The sound of his rugged breath was hideous as he fought to control it, his lungs struggling for air. He let the jewel fall to the ground before him, and stared at its light as the cloth slipped, revealing the beautiful might of it.

He knew it would hurt. He had been remembering what Mairon had said to him in Angband all those years ago, and he _knew_ , without having to think.

 _What kind of creature are you—one that forsakes his friends and kin in a merciless world of ice and darkness; one that forsakes his friends and kin to die? Do you really think they will still love you after what you've done to them? No? I quite agree. They will scorn you and hate you, and call you a monster._

 _You are the monster, Maedhros had said, shaking his head fiercely. You are the one they will call Thauron, the cruel, the hideous, the monster._

He remembered the time Hith had returned to Himring years after the Dagor Bragollach and had revealed her long imprisonment in Angband, and the moment when she, scarcely conscious in her furious fever, had called him a dreadful monster.

 _How dare you hold me against my will, you dreadful monster._

He told her that he did not remember the words, yet he did, and could never be rid of it. But that was what he was now, wasn't it? At the thought he laughed aloud, and scornfully, like a crazed man. How bitterly ironic it all was! He felt as if his entire life had been swallowed in this bitterness and tasted his bitter blood in his mouth—it was all merely bitter, bitter, bitter, _bitter_.

Yet he deserved this pain, didn't he? Yes, he did; most certainly. Yes, he was terrible dread; yes, he was a kinslayer; yes he was a monster. He wanted to feel the agony lashing through his body—more, more, _more_ , because he _deserved_ it.

Maedhros closed his hand around the Silmaril, savoring the pain that came shrieking to him, a thousand spears piercing his body like a forest.

He had led his last living brother to doom with him and he knew it, yet still did. He had killed at Sirion, and succumbed to Tyelkormo at Doriath, and killed there too. He had let Finno die in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and failed his people and his kin. He had let Findaráto be slaughtered at the hands of Thauron. He had let Hith _suffer_ in Angband, even after he swore—he did swear it, did he not?

He couldn't keep all of them, could he?

 _After all, oaths can be forsaken._

His hand had blackened at the burning touch of the Silmaril, and he let out another crazed laugh. _Look at you, you've become Morgoth himself, only one-handed._ He struggled up again, and let his legs drag him away. He had chosen.

The river of fire snaked around, hissing and belching fume. He breathed in the scent of the smoke although it choked him, and reveled in death's beauty. Gold and crimson and black danced in the ash-battered air, and took wing into the sky to light little lights of their own. Eärendil seemed so distant, so cold, he thought, as he turned his gaze to the stars. Maybe they had always been that way.

So he clutched the Silmaril to his chest, letting himself fall to his knees as the earth unmade herself, molten rock swirling around and around and around—

* * *

The bond of ósanwë snapped and there was a terrible sound piercing the air, screaming, shrieking, pleading. I screamed at it to stop until I realized that the screaming was me.

"Hith, Hith," Artanis was saying. "Please. Come back."

My eyes were wide, pupils dilated with terror. "No. No, no, no, no, no. . ."

"What happened, Hith? Tell me what happened."

Tears were streaming out from my eyes uncontrollably even as I buried my face into my hands, sobs shaking my body. _Face the truth, you fool, face the truth. He's dead, and you know it._


	43. Epilogue: Aurë Entuluva

_Epilogue: Aurë Entuluva_

* * *

When I first began writing my story, back in Balar during the War of Wrath, I was afraid that it wouldn't be frightening enough, enthralling enough, interesting enough. Now I'm not so sure I want them to be any of them; I think I might have accepted that this is indeed _my_ story, and for that I might as well be proud of it. Still I am unsure whether or not I should be 'proud' of all that had happened—all that I have _done_.

I suppose it is all right now, nonetheless, for those years have gone long ago, and sometimes I still whisper the Quenya name given to me by my mother upon my lips when the night was dark and the wolves were away, ensuring that I would not forget.

Before me, the candle was flickering, casting shadows like phantoms upon the walls. There were ninety-three names upon the list, ninety-three candles I would have lit if I had them. Quietly I recited them, the words a mere susurration of reminiscence, like an incantation, as if it could bestow some other fate upon me. The pane of the window was bestrewen in frost, the terrain outside veiled in shadow, and creeping vines climbed the walls all about the chamber. A bird flittered amongst the trees, sprinkling a few leaves upon the ground, then faded away.

So every night when I lit the candle, the lone light in the darkness, I would think of them, and list their names.

One, Míriel, who had been the first to die in Aman, pushed away because she couldn't heal fast enough to the Eldar's expectations. Two, Finwë, who Melkor had killed because he was in the way fo the Silmarils. Three, Pityo, the sixth son of Fëanor, who had died at the burning of the ships at Losgar. Four, Elenwë, wife of Turukáno, perished in the crossing of the Helcaraxë. Five, Denethor, King of the Laiquendi, slain in the First Battle of Beleriand. Six, Fëanor, the infamous creator of the Silmarils, eldest son of Finwë, killed by Gothmog and his own folly.

Seven, eight, Narwalótë, Tingilindë, my companions to Nargothrond that we never reached. Nine, Iríssë, Ñolofinwë's only daughter, slain when she sprang before the poisoned dart meant for her son. Ten, Eöl, known as the Dark Elf of Nan Elmoth, executed and thrown off the Caragdûr for killing Iri. Eleven, twelve, Haldad, father of Haleth, Haldar, brother of Haleth, slain in the Battle of the Gelion-Ascar Stockade.

Thirteen, Mirerúnya, my mother, slain defending Tyelpë and I from the orcs. _I wish. . .I could have given you a happier life._ Fourteen, Tindómë, who had suffered so greatly he could live no longer. _They promised me release from Eä, if I complied._

Fifteen, sixteen, Angaráto and Ambaráto, sons of Arafinwë, slain defending Dorthonion in the Dagor Bragollach. Seventeen, Haleth, killed in Ladros when the fires of Bragollach swept across the land. _What is hope? An expectation of good, which though uncertain has some foundation in what is known? Then we have none._

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, Hador, Gundor, Galdor, valiant Edain perished in the Bragollach. Twenty-one, Ñolofinwë, who had accepted me as a child of his own, killed in his challenge to Morgoth in single combat. Twenty-two, Rochallor, the faithful horse of Ñolofinwë, died of grief upon his return to Hithlum. Twenty-three, twenty-four, Eilinel and her husband Gorlim, the latter infamous for betraying the location of Barahir, the former killed in the Bragollach. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, Barahir, Gildor, Belegund, Baragund, Urthel, Dagnir, Ragnor, Radhruin, Dairuin, Arthad, Hathaldir, outlaws after Ladros was destroyed.

Thirty-six, Mirnetyo, son of Thuringwethil, who had lived a lonely, sorrowful life until his very end, and gave his life to save mine. _We all have sacrifices to make._ Thirty-seven, Isilmë, a fellow thrall in Angband, slain when they smothered him, burying him alive. Thirty-eight, that Sindarin ellon in the mines that I never knew the name to, who had brought the memory of my Quenya amilessë back to me. _The pendant? It was a gift—from my mother, before she was taken by the Bragollach._ Thirty-nine, Grithnir, guide to Túrin as he traveled to Doriath, died after growing sick in Menegroth, and never saw his northern homelands again.

Forty, Findaráto, the ever faithful friend who gave his life to save Beren's. _Perhaps in the time to come, some may break away from the light._ Forty-one, Huan, the wolf-hound that once dwelt beside Tyelko, slain retrieving the Silmaril out of Carcharoth, the Red Maw.

Forty-two, Gelmir, slain at the beginning of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, used as bait to draw the western host out of the hills and into the field, who I had failed to save in the mines of Angband. Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, Bór and his sons, Borlach, Borlad, and Borthand, who had stayed true to Maedhros and fought valiantly even when the other houses of Atani fell into darkness to Morgoth. Forty-seven, forty-eight, Haldir, Chieftain of the Haladin in Brethil, and Hundar his brother, both killed protecting the rear of the western host.

Forty-nine, Azgahâl, Lord of the Dwarves of Belegost, a close and kind friend of Maedhros, slaughtered in the Nirnaeth battling Glaurung. Fifty, Findekáno, who had been my brother, guiding me when I was lost, killed by Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs, near the end of the Nirnaeth. _I'll come back for you, Finno, I'll come back. I'll find someone to—to bring you back. Bring you home. . ._ Fifty-one, Huor, father of Tuor, slain by a poisoned arrow in his eye. Fifty-two, Rían, wife of Huor, who had died of grief when he did not return from the war, only a mere girl of twenty-two.

Fifty-three, Lalaith, youngest sister of Túrin, died at three when a sickness plagued their lands and Húrin their father never returned. Fifty-four, Saeros, the Sinda in Doriath who had waylaid Túrin and fled over a cliff in his terror. Fifty-five, Sador, faithful servant of the House of Hador, slain when he joined the rebellion against the Easterlings. Fifty-six, Beleg, a true friend to Túrin, accidentally slain when Túrin believed him to be a orc in the darkness.

Fifty-seven, Gwindor, escaped thrall of Angband, once prince of Nargothrond, slaughtered in the Fall of Nargothrond and the Battle of Tumhalad. _There is no use in waiting for one that is already dead._ Fifty-eight, Finduilas, who had been made a captive of the orcs at the Fall of Nargothrond, died when they pinned her to a tree with a spear. Fifty-nine, Orodreth, King of Nargothrond after Findaráto's death, killed at the Battle of Tumhalad. Sixty, Aerin, whom I had met at my trip to Dor-lómin, wife of Brodda, a Lord of the Easterlings, who burnt herself alive in her hall, and the remainder of the House of Hador was persecuted even more cruelly after her death. _There are so many things I wish I could have changed._

Sixty-one, Hunthor, who had saved Túrin before he could fall in the river, but even at the moment a stone struck Hunthor's head and he was lost in the Taeglin. Sixty-two, Dorlas, deserter of the people of Haleth at their most dire need, slain by Brandir. Sixty-three, Niënor, daughter of Morwen, threw herself into the gorge of Cabed-en-Aras after discovering that she had married her brother. Sixty-four, Brandir, killed by Túrin when he told him the truth of Níniel's identity. Sixty-five, Túrin, who committed suicide with the sword Gurthang that had been the blade that slew Beleg. Sixty-six, Morwen, mother of Lalaith, Niënor, and Túrin, wife of Húrin, found at the graves of her children ere her death. Sixty-seven, Manthor, a true friend to Húrin Thalion but slain when Avranc shot him with an arrow. Sixty-eight, Húrin, who drowned himself in Belegaer in great despair.

Sixty-nine, Thingol, killed by his greed of the Nauglamír, leading to the Sack of Menegroth. Seventy, Mablung, slain in the Battle of the Thousand Caves by the Dwarves of Nogrod in front of the treasure chamber in which the Nauglamír had been stored. Seventy-one, Melian, who had vanished from the mortal lands after her husband's death, mourning the loss in the Halls of Mandos in despair.

Seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four, Tyelko, Curvo, and Moryo, all killed in the Second Kinslaying at Doriath. _Funny to feel how that hurts._

Seventy-five, Dior, King of Doriath after Thingol, slayer of Tyelko even as he himself was slain by him. Seventy-six, seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine, Nimloth, his wife, Auredhir, Eluréd and Elurín, his sons, slain in the Second Kinslaying.

Eighty, Neldonwë, who Naergon later told me was killed in the Fall of Gondolin. Eighty-one, eighty-two, eighty-three, Rôg, Lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, Duilin, and Penlod, slain in the Fall. Eighty-four, Maeglin, killed by Tuor at their duel upon the walls of the city, thrown down to his death just like his father Eöl. Eighty-five, Salgant, perished in the Fall also, unknowingly aided Morgoth by supporting Maeglin.

Eighty-six, Ecthelion, Lord of the House of the Fountain, killed facing Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs. _Tranquil. . .I'd like to know the meaning of that word again._

Eighty-seven, Turukáno, High King of the Noldor after Findekáno, slain attempting a distraction for the survivors to escape the city. _Great is the victory of the Ñoldoli._

Eighty-eight, Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, slaughtered fighting the Balrog, defending the refugees as they fled Gondolin. _There is still hope for our people._

Eighty-nine, Dírhavel, a Mannish poet, slain in the Third Kinslaying. Ninety, Morwinyon, or Morwë, who had become a Fëanorian after we had met during the Long Peace and the Siege. _We trusted you, and you left us to die._ Ninety-one, Egalmoth, who had been a Noldorin Lord of Gondolin, and had survived its fall but perished in Sirion.

Ninety-two, Telvo, the youngest son of Fëanor, killed in the Third Kinslaying. _When Pityo died, I wondered if I was still a twin, a brother._

Ninety-three, Maedhros, the eldest son of Fëanor, who threw himself in a fiery chasm in suicide after the Silmaril burned his remaining hand in his vile deeds.

 _Don't leave._

 _I won't._

Then the list was over, and I blew the taper out, and all that was left in the darkness was the candle smoke, dancing a melancholy elegy until it was gone.

No tears would come to my eyes, however innumerable my sorrows were; after all, they were only memory now, and I had said farewell long ago. But it almost mattered not, for the flame was dead and encased with ruin, the ghost of wrath littered about it like the scatter of stars in the night sky.

All that was before me now was the misty candle smoke drifting in the still air, like a spectre awaiting to be at ease in vast, lonely halls. My smile was grim and mirthless, and I watched the smoke until it strayed away and vanished.

* * *

 _Northern Wastes, 587_

I watched Elerondo as he beheld what was left of Beleriand. He had been a child when the War of Wrath had first begun, and now he was halfway through his first cycle as a young ellon of fifty-five, around the age that I had been captured and taken to Angband the first time. For a long time he stood in shock, staring at the utter destruction of the land he had once called home.

Thangorodrim had fallen in the North; the body of Ancalagon the Black had collapsed on top of the terrible tower. But Hísilómë had fallen too, and Himring, Thargelion, Dorthonion, Sirion, Gondolin, Doriath, Nargothrond, the Falas, Amon Ereb.

Elerondo gazed up at the Silmaril in the sky, perchance thinking of his father Eärendil and his mother Elwing. His brother Elerossë was still in the boat floating motionless on the waters behind us, delaying his time of looking upon the ruin of Beleriand.

I felt numb now, but I still managed to wonder where Káno was. Perhaps I could have reached out into the energies and _seen_ , yet I dared not—no longer. He was not dead, I knew. It is told of him that he could not endure the pain with which the Silmaril tormented him, and he cast it at last into the Sea, thereafter wandering ever upon the shores, singing in pain and regret beside the waves. He came never back among the people of the Eldalië. And thus it came to pass that the Silmarils found their long homes: one in the airs of heaven, and one in the fires of the heart of the world, and one in the deep waters. Sometimes I think it would have been better if Eönwë had killed them there as they laid hands on the Silmarils at the camp.

Tyelpe lent Artanis a hand as she climbed out of the rowboat, her cerulean eyes piercing as she looked fiercely upon the ruins. Elerossë braced a foot on the dock as he tied the boat to the post, and only then did he dare look up. Gil-galad had only lingered briefly to gaze at the drowned land before motioning to the other boats pulling into the wharf; he had to be strong as their High King, he knew. With a melancholy jolt, I realized that they were all that were left of the house of Finwë.

I saw Talethien as he helped Silivros and Églanim and others I did not recognize out of the swaying boat in the waves, and Naergon as he limped across the wharf. Saerin wandered a little way off from the others, lost in thought, and Dínaelin gazed north, yet not at the fallen fortress, but towards Helcaraxë.

Perhaps in time we would heal, and it would only be a distant memory. The darkness of winter would pass and the flowers of spring would grow again. Yet the lies that were sown in our hearts are a seed that does not die and cannot be destroyed; ever and anon it spouts anew, and will bear dark fruit even unto the latest days.

Most of the Noldor had come onto land, and many looked to Gil-galad for an answer on where their lives should go now. He looked quite kingly, although a young king he was, as he stood upon the wharf, facing his people.

"My lord," one elleth said, her eyes tainted with melancholy, "where is it that we go now?"

Gil-galad turned to Taur-im-Duinath, lifting his chin as if to force confidence into himself. His cerulean eyes were fierce with determination, the cerulean that Findekáno's eyes had been, and I could see that the Noldor would follow his lead unflinchingly for the aura of willpower that he gave off.

"South," he told his people. "To a new land."

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Here ends _The Story of an Elleth in Exile._

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 _A/n: There will be a teaser chapter for the sequel posted soon. Thank you all so much for the support!_


	44. Teaser Chapter to Sequel

PROLOGUE

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— _before—_

The roaring of the seas had died down at last, and ruin encased the earth wholly. The skies were bleeding silver rain that fell upon the drowned land like the tears of Nienna, Lady of Mourning and Pity. There was nothing now but the ghost of the fortress in the north—its lovely beauty and sweet darkness had fallen into the abyss of the sea. South from here, glimpses of the ruins of Himring and some of the mountains of Mithrim to the west could be seen out of the glassy, dark mirror. The trees were drowned in the water's sweet intoxication and so did many of the last of the people, not that it was ever recorded that the drowning of Beleriand slaughtered the surviving Eldalië and Atani as well as the servants of shadow.

Mairon stooped, crooked and broken upon the snow-blanketed ground, his head bowed in despair and utter defeat. The white flakes fell upon his auburn hair, a tangled mess matted with crusts of dried blood. He carried no daggers upon him, not even one hidden in his boot, and his garb was mildly ragged, smeared with blotches of scarlet. He pressed a shaking hand upon a wound bleeding at his side, trying to conceal his obvious pain of the injury yet chiefly of the downfallen fortress in the north. The trail of blood he had left upon the ground had soaked into the snow, imbruing its pure whiteness like a splatter of ink on parchment.

Eönwë was behind him, standing, sword still in hand and the steel stained with scarlet, his countenance revealing nothing but vain consolation. He took a uncertain step toward his old friend now archenemy, hesitated, and slid his sword back into its sheath upon his back. The wings upon his back were heavy with fatigue although he strived to keep them up, trying to be sure that no one saw his weariness nor his weakness. He had almost let his feet sink into the snow as he dared another step forward, noting Mairon's every movement.

When Ancalagon had fallen, his massive body breaking the towers of Thangorodrim, and the last of the Urulóki destroyed, all the pits of Morgoth were broken and unroofed, and the might of the Valar descended into the depths of the earth. There Morgoth stood at last at bay, and yet unvaliant. He fled into the deepest of his mines, and sued for peace and pardon; but his feet were hewn from under him, and he was hurled upon his face. Then he was bound with the chain Angainor which he had worn aforetime, and his iron crown they beat into a collar for his neck, and his head was bowed upon his knees. And the two Silmarils which remained to Morgoth were taken from his crown, and they shone unsullied beneath the sky; and Eönwë took them, and guarded them.

He had remembered Mairon, who he had fought at the very end of the war. His orders from Manwë were to keep him occupied so that he could not go to fight beside his Urulóki, for they would, doubtless, rally at his coming. Eönwë knew of the great care he gave for them, even as he masked his desperateness beneath the ruthless smile he had curved onto his lips, and it hurt him more than he would have thought. He had fought him nonetheless, and given him the hideous wound at his side.

After he had entrusted the Silmarils to his squire, commanding the lords of the Vanyar and Noldor to guard it with care, he returned to the desolation of the land where he and Mairon had fought. For hours he had wandered in the snow-stricken forest, the trees grey, bare, and lonely in the straying mist. It was odd to feel no presence of life anywhere about save the icy trees; not even ravens perched amongst them, for many of them had been spies of Morgoth. There was only a barren, frozen world, dead even after the victory of the war. Such a bitter victory it had cost them, so sour, so biting. Were victories not supposed to be sweet? After all, that was how they were sung in the songs.

Then at last he had found him in the snow, wounded and broken, but not nearly dead. It was told among the Valar that in the beginning of Arda, Morgoth had seduced him to his allegiance, and he became one of his greatest and most trusted servants. They said that he was the most perilous, for he could assume many forms, and for as long as he willed he could appear noble and beautiful, so as to deceive all but the most wary.

In Aman, to rally the Eldalië, Manwë had given a speech reciting all the evil deeds of Melkor, and Mairon's beside him. He spoke of what Melkor had done in the First War of Arda, defiling the pure green earth and destroying the Lamps, of how he had suborned Ungoliant to his will, consuming the light of the Two Trees of Valinor, and of what he had done to all the Eldalië in the First Age in Endórë. He told of how Mairon had how he had nearly slain Beren and Lúthien, slaughtered the last Barahir and his companions, of how he had killed Finrod Felagund, whom he had known as Findaráto in Quenya.

Eönwë wondered if that was all true, thinking of how they called him _Sauron_ now, the vile, the terrible, the cruel. He still remembered their friendship in Aman in the beginning of Arda, and almost longed for it again. Sometimes he wearied merely from thinking of it, the burden of memory too great on him.

Now Mairon was before him, at his mercy, broken and despairing. The Valar had severed Morgoth's feet from under him when he was at last found. He wondered if he was obliged to do the same to Mairon.

"I am spent," Eönwë said at last. "The war is over. The fortress in the north has fallen, and Morgoth conquered. You are free now, free to your own will, Mairon."

Mairon lifted his head vaguely, his voice was cracked and despairing when he spoke. "What would you have me do?"

Eönwë hesitated. "Come back with me to Aman. There you may receive judgement with Lord Manwë and live as you did before in Valinor. I would do it myself, but it is not in my place to pardon those of my own order."

There was a moment of absolute silence, for there were no leaves upon the boughs of trees to shake in the wind.

"I confess that I do remember those times," Mairon said softly. "Those sweet, foolish days in Aman when the world was young and the mountains green. How naïve we were—do you remember? How doltish, how senseless. What is life without struggle, without pain?"

Eönwë noticed that he had shifted out of his winged form. "Vain."

He turned, the gash on his cheekbone glistening scarlet. "How many losses?"

"Severe, they say," Eönwë told him. "We have lost many, more than we can count. It will a be a grief unspoken of when we return to Aman."

"I almost regret it," Mairon murmured, his eyes cast to the ground.

Eönwë was almost surprised.

"I was frightened," Mairon said. "I hadn't remembered feeling fear like that for many centuries. The wrath of the Valar was great, more than I would have imagined."

"I was afraid too," Eönwë confessed. "Their power. . .I did not know it could be like that."

"I did not know _you_ could be like that. I did not know _you_ could do such terrible things."

"Neither did I."

Eönwë held his gaze long and steadily. "You're very. . .different from before."

"I know."

He hesitated again. "Will you come?"

Mairon bared his teeth, although still a mere shadow of the fierceness he had shown before. "Not in this state."

Eönwë took another cautious step forward, holding out his hand to him as if he could help, but Mairon growled, the talons upon his hand suddenly coming forth and slashing across his bare hand. Blood ran out from the jagged slash, leaking to the snow before him. Mairon stood up, with difficulty, and limped backwards.

"If you care of me, _leave me_ ," Mairon hissed, his crimson eyes suddenly alive and ablaze again, yet only for a moment.

Eönwë opened his mouth and closed it, not knowing what to say. "I hope you do choose to come," he said quietly, and turned away. He knew that Mairon was ashamed to return to the Valar in humiliation and to receive from them a sentence, for it might well be a long servitude in proof of his good faith. In the days when Aman thrived, Mairon had been a Maia of Aulë, and worked in the forges often. He remembered how he was so fond of order, planning, and coordination, disliking confusion and chaos. It was quite ironic how it had all come to be now, wasn't it?

He took a shuddering breath, feeling the frigid air seep into his lungs, and when he let it out, the warmth formed a short-lived cloud before his lips.

When he turned around again, Mairon was gone.

In a few hours' time, he made his way back to the camp, concealing his tattered hand in the shadows of his cloak as best he could for the others. He nodded politely at some of the Eldalië lords that passed by but made haste to his tent, where he knew his squire would be waiting. The earth felt moist and damp beneath his feet even with his combat boots on; the tears of Nienna had touched Yavanna and seeped through it all, weeping for the bitter sorrow of their victory.

His squire was a young Vanya, golden-haired and green-eyed, generally outspoken and vehement, yet today he was silent and wan when he called for him. He wore only a weathered grey cloak against the cold and light shoes, but seemed not to be bothered by the chill.

"Hetanë, will you help me bind this wound?" Eönwë said, and the ellon nodded, going to retrieve the salve and bindings.

"Where did you go, my lord?" Hetanë asked when he had returned and was cleaning the wound.

"Beyond the forest," Eönwë told him, his eyes staring distantly past all things. Then he would say no more.

When Hetanë was finished, he made his way to the tent where the Silmarils were being kept, and gave a crisp nod to each of the guards outside. It was nightfall now, and they made sure to stand tall and straight before their commander, pretending they were unafraid and not doleful.

The jewels were wrapped in thick cloths that concealed their scintillating light, but now Eönwë stepped forward and unveiled them, gazing at the cruelly beautiful brilliance. Funny how they would fight wars for these trinkets, these cold stars.

A messenger let himself in the tent. "My lord Eönwë."

He covered the Silmarils and turned. "Yes?"

"The last two sons of Fëanáro have brought a message, bidding you yield up the jewels which of old their father made and Morgoth stole from him," the messenger said, eyes glinting as Phanaikelūth revealed its cold light through the flaps of the tent flying in the gale.

Eönwë remembered Nelyafinwë and Kanafinwë from Valinor. They had been young, guiltless ellyn then, untainted with melancholy and sorrow. It was a pity how it had all come to this. Now they stood alone against all the world, even in all their weariness and loathing. But the right to the work of their father, which the sons of Fëanor formerly possessed, had now perished, because of their many and merciless deeds, being blinded by their oath, and most of all because of their slaying of Dior and the assault upon the Havens. The light of the Silmarils should go now into the West, whence it came in the beginning; to Valinor must they return, and there abide the judgement of the Valar, by whose decree alone would Eönwë yield the jewels from his charge.

 _Alone against all the world._ "Thank you for telling me. I will send them my answer on the morrow."

Eönwë went to the crest of the crag and gazed at the drowned land before him. The sea dangerously quiet and bitterly beautiful, so dark it seemed like the everlasting darkness itself. A mirror it had been, and a mirror it would be, he hoped. He hoped for a lot of things, and not many of them came true.

Alone against all the world.

He could almost hear Mairon laughing at the words.

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 _Phanaikelūth._ (V) Valian/Valarin word for the Moon.

 _Ellon._ (S) Male Elda, plural _ellyn_.

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*Chapter XXIV, 'Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath,' _The Quenta Silmarillion._


	45. Author's Note

In case some of you don't know, the sequel to this has been going on—it is called _The Gift of Broken Gemstones_ , the story that occurs during the Second Age of Middle-earth. We're currently on chapter twenty, but there is still much more to go! :)

Thank you to all the readers and reviewers! You guys are amazing! This has been such an amazing journey for me :)


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